Stalking The Darkness
by Aislynn Crowdaughter
Summary: When Methos meets a Vampire, Duncan's not amused. Nor does he care about the police investigation concerning beheadings... Warning: SLASH DM, angst, horror. Story currently on hiatus.
1. Prologue

**Stalking the Darkness**  
**by Aislynn**

Introduction and Disclaimer

Work in Progress, Rating: R for male/male relationship nothing graphic), horror, violence. Warning: SLASH (male/male relationship - nothing graphic though), elements of horror (here there be vampires...)

Characters: D/M, JD (on the phone, only).

__

Summary: when Methos meets a stranger at a party, he and Duncan soon are going to find out more about the night side of Paris and it's creatures than they ever wanted to know. And some of these creatures need blood to survive... Warning: SLASH (D/M), angst, horror

**Standard disclaimer**:  
Highlander, the concept of immortality, Duncan MacLeod and Methos (and Joe Dawson) are not mine, they belong to Rysher Entertainment, Gaumont Television and Panzer / Davis. All this is used here without permission and just for fun. I make no money out of this and I promise to give them all back unharmed when I'm done with them. Hybert belongs to me, as does everybody else not known to you from the Highlander Series.

**Rating:** This is a **slash story**, written under the implication that Methos and Duncan are more than just friends. If you don't like this kind of story, just don't read it, okay? However, there's nothing too graphic in his version, so it's between PG-13 up to R. Also, there are elements of Horror. _Here be vampires!_

**Feedback:** Please review, I want to get better. This is my very first Fanfiction story, and English is not my first language. Any constructive critic, comments and grammatical corrections are welcome. Flames are not.

**Beta**: Shomeret took the time to look over the first few chapters of this way back when the story first got published and gave me wonderful hints and insights. Thank you!

**Update, July 2008:** The ever gracious and irreplaceable Randy has now taken it upon himself to betaread this story for me, correcting my grammar and making it so much better. Thank you! So, far, the Prologue has been edited; the other chapters will follow hopefully soon. ;) Any remaining faults and errors are my own. All aberrations from Highlander Canon are my own fault, too, and are meant this way! This story takes place sometimes after TB/NTB and operates on the assumption that Methos and MacLeod found together sometimes afterwards and stayed in Paris. Endgame hasn't happened, yet.

**Archive:** Please ask. This work may be subject to serious revisions later.

And now, on with the story!

* * *

Prologue

**_He's not breathing._**

Methos eyed the blond man at the other side of the room with curious, but well-hidden srutiny.

The man was of average build, body well trained and honed to catlike fitness, and nearly slender. The features of his face spoke of an average age of thirty-something, his stance was casual and carefully chosen, as if he just wanted to show the most elegant way how to lean himself uninterested against a wall.

The man held a glass of champagne in his left hand, sipping occasionally. His eyes were hidden under nearly closed lashes, the face carefully schooled, though the curving of his lips told of wry, underlying amusement, mixed with boredom. Exactly the look of an average Jet-Setter at a tedious cocktail party like this one. Every single fiber of him seemed to say: _society snob, completely ordinary._

Except.

The man was standing too still. He was in fact standing so still that Methos, just for a moment, got the impression that the blond stranger had _not even breathed._

Which, of course, was impossible.

Presence filled his mind, growing stronger, and Methos felt Mac's approach even before the Highlander turned up at his side and handed him another glass, taking his empty one and brushing his fingers briefly in passing.

"Sorry, they have only champagne". Mac murmured, "No beer at all."

Methos smiled at his lover.

"Thank you." He said, and wished, not for the first time this evening, they could be alone, at the barge, perhaps, rather than at this annoying party.

"Mac, just how long did you say you wish to stay?"

MacLeod looked at him with a rueful smile.

"Uh, well, Adam, I'm sorry, but there is this guy Lefebre wants me to meet and talk to, and he's just a little late..." He looked defensive.

Methos shrugged. "So tell me again, Mac, why did I accompany you to this party?"

Mac gave his lover a tiny smile. He felt a sudden impulse to nibble Methos ears and neck, but they were in public, in plain sight of everyone, and he could not do so much as simply holding hands. He settled for a casual brush of hands while he clanged their glasses together again.

"Because you love me and I craved your company?" he offered.

Methos snorted. "And that's why you'd spend the entire evening in annoying discussions with your friend Lefebre, letting his little niece devour you with her eyes?" He set his lips in a pout.

Mac's smile deepened. "She's a sweet little thing, isn't she?" he asked with a little teasing.

Methos gave him a long look.

"Breaking the young things heart, Mac?" He raised a brow. "Be careful. From the looks she gave you all evening, I was expecting her to drag you into a deserted room and jump you at any moment."

"Well, she hasn't so far," MacLeod gave back. "Besides," he added in mock-horror, "she's only seventeen. You're accusing me of cradle-robbing, now?"

Methos eyed him appraisingly.

"Dangerous ground, Mac!" he warned lightly. "If you take the difference in age as a measure..."

Mac snorted softly.

"Point taken," he acknowledged. "But no need to worry. I can assure you, my virtue is in no danger - not by her, anyway. As a matter of fact..." his voice turned husky - "lately I'm not that much into novelties, but rather into very old antiques..."

The 'very old antique' in question ducked his head to hide his smile and took a sip of his champagne. "If you put it that way..."

"So," MacLeod added after a little pause, "anything I can do to lighten your mood?"

Methos gave him a very speculative look.

"Oh, I **could** think of several things, Mac, but I think you won't want to shock these delightful company of people..." he trailed off. MacLeod had the grace to give him an embarrassed smile.

"Didn't think so," Methos said. Then, in a startling good imitation of a whining tone, he continued: "As it is, there wasn't much amusement to find, so far. Not even these interesting archaeological chats you bribed me with, as I recall..."

"I'm sorry, Adam!" MacLeod defended himself. "It's not my fault the really interesting people didn't show up."

Methos shot him a mock-glare, then stopped his pretense and let his eyes wander back to the stranger on the far wall who had first caught his attention. "Well, as a matter of fact," he muttered, "**some** did."

MacLeod followed his gaze. "You know him?" he asked.

Methos gave him an enigmatic smirk and lowered his lashes until they hid the interest in his eyes. "Not yet. I never met him before. But..."

MacLeod shot him a quick look, searching for any hint of teasing.

Methos shrugged. "I don't know, Mac. There is something strange about him..."

MacLeod gave him a careful look. He could not, for his life of him, find anything interesting about the blond man on the far wall, except he was admittedly good-looking. Somehow, Methos' sudden interest in this stranger felt slightly uncomfortable.

He decided to go back to teasing. He heaved a theatrical sigh.

"So, now, **you** are going to look for an evening entertainment?" he said in mock horror, his tone faintly wounded.

Methos checked him with a quick look.

"Jealous, Mac? You?" he asked, and added: "The man who can't go to a party without breaking every single female heart in a twenty mile range?"

MacLeod gave him an unbelieving look, startled about the direction their conversation was suddenly taking. And Methos banter had not sounded entirely genuine. On the other hand... there was that unreadable smug expression on the face of his lover...

He gave back: "Says the man who just accused me of intended cradle robbery. Maybe I should just take your advice and look for somebody who is interested..."

Too late, he registered the already guarded state of his lover and saw the emotional defenses slam shut both in Methos stance and his eyes.

"Sure," Methos said, face suddenly unreadable. "We never said we own each other, did we?"

Mac drew a quick breath. Yet before he could react, Methos cast a deliberate look at the man across the room, then his gaze wandered further around and rested admiringly on a few women. "Go right ahead, amuse yourself. I'm sure I can find something to keep me occupied for the night. Won't want to spoil your fun, Mac."

Something in the way Methos voiced his statement told MacLeod that there was immediate danger and that the words of his lover had suddenly left the safe borders of mischievous banter. Alarmed, he said: "Adam..."

Methos eyes returned to him, quirking a brow in the inscrutable, amused expression he used for hiding his feelings.

"You have any better suggestions, Mac?"

MacLeod swallowed. Of course there was the option to leave the party immediately, take the old guy home and show him very thoroughly whom Mac thought he belonged to. Or at least to drag him into the garden into a dark corner and do the same. Possibly that would have been the best course of action. But suddenly MacLeod felt a surge of anger. _How dared the Old Man think he could manipulate him like this? Again?_

Good intentions forgotten, he clipped sweetly: "No, why should I? Wouldn't wish to thwart your chance to break he hearts of all the young foolish things here on this party - regardless of gender!"

He smiled.

"Just go ahead! I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself. Maybe, I should give that sweet niece of Lefebre's a chance, after all..."

A mistake. MacLeod saw it the second he delivered his stinging blow and the heartbeat it took "Adam" to hide the sudden expression of hurt and fear in his eyes.

"Acting true to form, MacLeod?" the Old Man said with a smirk, his eyes carefully guarded.

Duncan shrugged. "I have to keep a reputation," he said in an attempt to go back to teasing.

"Don't be a fool," he continued quickly, "I will occupy myself with some most boring negotiations about that antique deal Lefebre is suggesting."

Nonchalantly, he added: "Of course, this little niece **is** a sweet thing, but..."

He raised the champagne glass, smiled at the young lady in question across the room, nipped at the glass, then he turned back to "Adam", still smiling and tried to underline his words with a husky voice: "She has nothing to me compared to you."

Methos responded with an amused, seizing look, but didn't let his guard down, and MacLeod realized with a sinking feeling that it was too late. His quipped teasing had touched a sore spot in his lover - a well hidden wound that seemed to be closely connected to the sudden shyness Methos occasionally showed when he realized somebody was interested in him or when he fell in love. He suspected that Methos still feared their new relationship might just be an aberration, feared still that MacLeod might wake up on day and realize he liked his lovers with more curves, and that his curiosity towards men then would be satisfied, for now.

And MacLeod had just done everything to confirm that fear.

"Oh, I don't know, Mac," Methos said, following his gaze, "I can see at least a **few** things she might have to offer that I can't..." his gaze lingered for just a moment at the girl's well formed chest, then wandered to some other guests.

"Don't let yourself miss something."

Damn. Duncan bit his lip briefly. "Adam..."

"Oh, don't you worry, MacLeod!" Methos said, smiling, "as I said before, we don't own each other. Just go ahead and bore yourself to tears. I think I'll go and find some way to entertain myself."

He smiled and pushed himself away from the wall. "I'll find some way to get home, too. So you can give her a ride later."

MacLeod felt a cold lump forming in his stomach. He repeated alarmed and urgently:_ "Adam!"_

But Methos just smiled at him, shook his head and walked away. He waved into the direction of Macs business partner and his acquaintances. Lefebre's beautiful niece was looking at Mac expectantly.

"Your company is waiting," Adam said. Then he was lost in the crowd, and shortly after even his signature faded.

MacLeod cursed under his breath. He knew he should do something. Something that made it clear beyond doubt to his insecure lover that he was **not** going to walk out on him from one moment to the other in favor of some nice, giggling girl. But what **could** he do?

The obvious thing would be to take Methos then and there, push him against a wall and kiss him senseless, until it connected even with his stubborn brain that it was **him** MacLeod wanted in his bed, his home and his life, women be damned.

It wasn't that MacLeod was suddenly immune to female graces and to their enticing offerings. It was the fact that he **loved** the Old Man, and he had always been faithful to his previous partners.

But they were at a party, under the eyes of half the town, and he could not do so much as **touch** his partner here. Hell, he couldn't even **sulk** at him too openly without feeding all kind of suspicions. So he quelled the curse rising in his throat and let Methos stroll away, swearing to himself that he would teach him a lesson or two when they were back home at the barge. Back between their sheets. So thorough a lesson that Methos would be sore for a week or so afterwards, Immortal healing or not.

He would make love to the Old Man so thoroughly and tenderly that it would take a long time until his partner would doubt his affection to him again - or the attraction his body held for a certain Scot compared with the body of women.

Tonight, he promised himself. And then he added with a sad feeling of resignation: or whenever the Old Man decided to come home next time. Knowing Methos, he just might pull one of his famous disappearing acts again, vanishing for a week or two...

But hopefully, he would come home tonight, or at least sometimes soon.

His decision firmly in place, he turned and went to his waiting acquaintances.

o o O o o

Methos cursed silently. He was not sure how he had managed to maneuver them both into this point so quickly. He was not even sure what devil had gotten into him. He did not really believe MacLeod would cheat on him or throw him out for some giggling seventeen years-old. And of course he didn't expect MacLeod to play lovebirds with him openly in the public; that would not fit into MacLeod's style. And while he himself was strictly opposed to that kind of display, he didn't need too much public interest in his personal affairs, too.

But he could not help feeling unsure, when he and Mac were trapped at a society gathering like this and his lover found himself the natural target of a large crowd of predatory ladies. Not that Methos was normally prone to the green-eyed monster; but his relationship with his lover was a recent development, and he could not help the nagging fear that MacLeod would suddenly come to his senses and return to strict heterosexuality again. He feared this day, feared it deeply. And so events like this one here tended to leave him nervous.

And now, acting on this fear, he had successfully managed to drive MacLeod away, at least for this evening. Maybe even more. _'Just great, old man!' _He chastised himself.

But it was too late.

Cursing under his breath, Methos took direction to the place where he had seen the interesting stranger who, by default, had brought up this misery. But the spot was empty.

The man was gone.

Irritated, Methos began looking around, thinking the man might just have slipped away to some other guest or the rest room. To no avail; he could not find him. It was as if the target of his interest had vanished without a trace. Maybe the man had left the time him and Mac were having their discussion, but still... Perhaps he could at least find out who the intriguing guy was. So, he found some couples who had been nearby and asked them about the man. Nothing. They didn't know him, had not even talked to him... at last, he found the host and repeated the question. The answer was astonishing.

"Who?" the old antique dealer who hosted the party asked.

Methos smiled, gave a short description of the stranger and made up some hints about a paper he was doing and he had heard the guy would possibly have some information about the subject. Unfortunately, he had missed him and did not know his address...

The old man shrugged regretfully.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Pierson, he must have been with some of the other guests. I don't know him. Perhaps he was accompanying somebody and had to leave early..."

Methos nodded politely, excused himself, and strolled back to the party.

_Better and better!_ Now he was alone, had pissed of his lover, and had missed the possible "evening entertainment", even if he had only in mind to **talk** with the fellow.

And MacLeod had made good of his threat and was deeply occupied with his antiquer friend and the girl, who was devouring him with her eyes, openly flirting. Methos felt miserable, and more angry by the minute. He still believed Mac's hints had been only banter, but he could not help the nagging doubt rising in his guts. He had enough. Swiftly, he went to the entrance and retrieved his coat from the checkroom, leaving without even bothering to tell his lover. The cold night air did little to calm him. Deciding to take a walk, Methos shrugged and headed past the waiting cabs into the softly illuminated streets.

TBC


	2. Chapter 1 Meeting Strangers

**Stalking the Darkness  
by Aislynn**

Fandom: Highlander (The Series)

See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!  
Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it!

Thanks go to my beta reader Randy, who did wonders on polishing this chapter. All remaining errors are my own. :)

* * *

Chapter 1: Meeting Strangers

Hybert saw his target stiffen and look around uncomfortably. Not willing to give himself away, he merged deeper into the shadow of the small entrance and stood completely still, not even breathing. The other man hesitated and scanned his surroundings. Then, at last, he shrugged and went on. Hybert waited long enough for his target to turn away again, then he stepped out of the entrance and glided to the next spot of concealing shadows. Silently, like a part of the darkness he hid in, he followed the object of his interest, never coming closer, never giving the man the chance to slip away. He had done this for hours now, following this stranger criss-cross through the streets of Paris, and he felt his Hunger rising. Time to decide, then. What should he do with this man? Feeding, or finding another target?

Suddenly the man stiffened again, stopping, straightening, his dark head rising. Again he looked warily around, scanning the dark alley. Hybert froze and melted back into the shadows. Had he been discovered? But the stranger was not looking at him. Slowly, very carefully, Hybert lowered his barriers, searching for the powerful spirit of the other man. Yes, there it was: the unbelievable extent of this spirit, the sheer overwhelming weight of his mind. The fierce, sparkling energy, so much more powerful than the feel of the average mortals. Like the other one on this party, in a way; save that other one had held nothing of the power and the weight of spirit _this _man had. Carefully Hybert dropped his barriers further, skillfully avoiding the direct touch of the other man's mind. He had no idea if this odd stranger was a mage or a psychic or even a more alien inhabitant of the world. But he would not risk being exposed if the man turned out to be a telepath.

_Ah, there!_ Now he felt it. There was another being close, with that same feeling of fierce, sparkling energy. Only that new mind didn't hold so much power. Then he gasped. _No! There!_ It was not only one man with this energy, who was approaching; there were two. And the second one just now stepped out of the shadows, blocking the way for Hybert's quarry out of the alley.

Carefully, Hybert slipped closer, curious about he outcome of this strange meeting of not only two, but three people he had no idea where to place.

o o O o o

Methos was busy counting all of MacLeod's many fatal character flaws when he felt the presence. He looked up. There! A man stepped out of the shadows of the alley, directly in front of him. Oh, Damn! Just what he needed today! And he was too close to the other man, already, to just turn and vanish. His angry mood and his distraction about this last fight had managed to overcome his normal wariness. He had not paid attention where he was going in the last few hours. As it was, he might well pay for it now with his head.

Warily, he stopped and looked around, hand on the hilt of his sword. The approaching man looked younger than him, body with more bulk and a bit taller. Hard to estimate his age. There was something very odd about his signature, just as if...

Methos cursed silently under his breath. _Another one!_ There was not just one other Immortal, there were two. The second stayed hidden. He was definitely in deep shit this time!

Carefully he watched the other man coming closer. Half on his way, the man drew his sword. Methos had his hand at his own, ready to draw, but refused for the moment to do so.

The man stopped a few steps in front of him and started to speak.

"Well, well, well. Marcel Geraldy, at your service. Now, Mister - who are you?"

Methos sighed.

"Somebody who really would prefer not to do this," he said. His muscles, however, tightened, ready for instant action.

The other man laughed, a barking, ugly sound. "I'll bet!" he said. "Sorry, buddy, but no choice. I'm going to have your head."

Methos shot a fast look around, checking for escape routes. There were none. He was in the middle of a narrow, deserted alley, barely lit by streetlights, with too much space between them. All the entrances to the houses on both sides seemed closed. The back mouth of the alley was way too far away to merit an attempt to run. And in these damn European towns there never were any fire escapes when you needed them...

Trying to appear nervous, he swallowed and took a step back.

"Look, can't we talk about this? I really am not in the mood for a fight, tonight..."

The other man grinned. His grin broadened when another man suddenly stepped out of the shadows behind Methos, and blocked his escape route.

"Surprise!" he said. "Sorry, buddy, but no luck. I am in the mood!" He nodded to the man at Methos' back. "By the way, may I introduce my friend to you? Phillip is my student. He is new at this, but he is very eager to learn!"

Methos eyes narrowed, and he straightened up. He schooled his features into a mask of rage.

At the same time, his left hand crept into the pocket of his coat, reaching for his gun. And closed around...

_Nothing. _

Darn! Methos cursed under his breath. MacLeod had talked him into leaving the gun behind tonight, due to the evening's entertainment. It would do no good to shock the checkroom clerks at Lefebre's party, or so he had argued. Damn, damn, damn! So he was going to lose his head after five thousand years because this stupid Scottish child had to attend a bloody antique dealer's party, and he had to choose just this evening to accompany him. He would have laughed at the irony, if he hadn't been this outraged about it.

He took another step back and drew his sword.

"Now this is a new one. Two on one? Somehow I must have missed this page of the rulebook!" he said acidly. "Is it a new invention of yours or just your style?"

Geraldy laughed again.

"Why, this is one-on-one - at least for now! Phillip here is just encouraging your will to fight, not run, aren't you, Phil?"

Methos carefully turned his back to one of the sides of the alley, keeping both men in his sight. He held his sword awkwardly over his left shoulder.

"I suppose," he asked, "there's no way to talk you two guys out of this? Like we go somewhere to a nice bar and I buy you a drink?"

The man in front of him stepped closer, raising his sword to strike. His face showed his arrogance and his disdain for the coward in front of him. "Forget it!" he scoffed, and lunged.

o o O o o

His first thrust was parried, as was the next. His opponent danced back, obviously unhappy and awkward. He swung his sword as if he hadn't much training using it.

Not a strong enemy! Geraldy grinned to himself. This would be an easy kill. He wouldn't even need Phillip's help, then. But it would be safer to take no risks...

Slowly, he drove his opponent back in Phil's direction.

o o O o o

Hybert crept silently closer. He was behind his target, about forty steps from the entrance of the alley and only fifteen steps from the other two men. But if the fight was going any further in his direction, they would cross him and leave him behind. It looked exactly like this would be the outcome. Obviously, the attacker wanted to trap his opponent between himself and his partner... Enthralled, Hybert watched the fight enfolding before him. He had taken a sudden breath when he saw his target for this night draw a sword, too. Both of them had these antique weapons? And what about those "rules" his object of interest had mentioned? What were these two?

With professional curiosity, he watched he fight. He wasn't a very good sword fighter, but he could see what the attacked man was doing. He played. His moves were far too studied and far too obviously awkward for a man keeping a sword hidden in his coat in this modern world. As unskilled as his moves seemed, he took care to keep his back close to the wall, and somehow he stayed always out of reach of his enemy's strokes. The man was playing with his opponent, studying his moves, reading his every movement. Trying to figure out how to avoid being trapped between his two attackers.

It was a dangerous game, though; if he waited too long, he might indeed end up caught between them...

All instincts at the ready, Hybert waited for the deception to end.

o o O o o

Marcel Geraldy drove his opponent back with aggressive, powerful strokes. Ten steps... fifteen... twenty... he grinned. His opponent practically flew from him, unthinking of the fact that in his back waited another enemy. He seemed clumsy, awkward with the sword, barely managing to parry the thrusts and lunging at him. Then, suddenly, he slipped on the wet plaster and went down to his knees. Geraldy seized the opportunity. Trying for the opening, he brought his sword down in a heavy blow, aimed to tear his opponent apart. But somehow, at the last moment, the arc was stopped by the other man, who had managed to bring his sword up between them, just inches away from his body. Driven forward by his own thrust, Geraldy lost his balance and stumbled. Trying to regain a secure stand he staggered slightly to the side. At the same moment, he felt a hit in his left side, followed by a numb, wet sensation. Holy Shit! He knew that feeling; he had been stabbed. _A blade! Holy Mother of Christ, the bastard had a blade, a second blade, hidden on his body!_ So much for being an easy target!

Geraldy reacted on pure instinct and launched a vicious kick at the other man, sending him backwards and flat to the ground. However, he could not push his advantage, because with catlike grace and fast as quicksilver, his opponent rolled and got back on his feet. Geraldy got a look into his adversary's eyes, just for an instant, and swallowed. There was no hesitation in those eyes, no more uncertainty and not a trace of fear. Only death. **His** death!

Suddenly paling, Geraldy knew fear, and was fighting for his very life.

o o O o o

Methos got up again, sword at the ready. He cursed, silently and with venom. This last maneuver had been in vain, and worse, it had cost him his second blade. Gods above and below! Now he had only his heavy broadsword left, and no more advantages. He couldn't afford a second mistake, or he might never again leave this alley! His acute senses told him that the other Immortal, Geraldy's student, had gotten closer. He could not afford to be caught between these two, either!

Oh, well. No more deception and fooling around, then. It was time to end this, once and for all, and as fast as possible!

o o O o o

Geraldy's eyes grew wide with fear as his opponent started to fight him in earnest. Suddenly he found himself at the disadvantage, fighting desperately for his very life. There was nothing awkward or clumsy now in the movements of his enemy; all his moves were deadly and as graceful as running water. The man moved around like quicksilver, elegant, sure and unbelievable fast. All of Geraldy's thrusts were parried easily and with a sureness that was as disturbing as it was effective. Geraldy took two severe wounds before he ever knew what had happened. Suddenly he felt as if he was a mere clumsy child, and with a sinking feeling he realized that he was losing. With an angry cry, more out of fear and desperation than rage, he attacked and drove the other man back. He relied on pure instinct, tried to call up everything he had ever learned. Time! He needed time! If he could just manage to stall the end of this fight until his student closed up to him... Another thrust, and another. Move, dammit!!! Time! He just needed TIME!!!

o o O o o

Methos heard a startled cry from the alley behind him, followed by rapid steps. Damnit! Phillip! The little student, Geraldy's ace up the sleeve, running to his master's rescue! Methos cursed. He sensed the second Immortal at his back, but could do nothing about it. Geraldy was better than it had first seemed, managing to hold his stance just long enough to allow his partner to close the distance. Fighting with the bravery of desperation, the arrogant child - Methos estimated him to be well into his second century, perhaps even entering the third - just barely managed to hold him at bay, in spite of the grievous wounds the man had already taken. Methos tried to force the man around, between him and the student, to prevent becoming sandwiched between them. But Geraldy thwarted this attempt, kicking a trashcan into his way, and drove him back.

Grinding his teeth, Methos realized that he might well be about to die here. If he could not manage to take out Geraldy first, that was. Launching a fierce attack, Methos concentrated on getting through the defense of the enemy in front, ignoring for the moment the one at his back.

o o O o o

Hybert watched with fascination as the man he had followed dropped his pretense. It was a thrilling fight. The poor stupid attacker was about to lose, and he knew it. He never had a chance... or wouldn't have, if he had been alone. All too soon, Hybert heard he running steps from the mouth of the ally and the startled cry of the third man, who realized his friend was losing. He saw how his object of interest tried to get around the enemy in front of him and was thwarted. And then the third man was close enough. He raised his blade, all the while his target lunged and landed another blow to the body of his outmatched opponent. Hybert decided to act. He would be damned if he was about to let this stupid little killer thwart his opportunity to learn more about this strange modern warrior with the powerful mind, who had sparked his interest!

o o O o o

Methos felt his blade connect with Geraldy's flesh while his senses sang out with the warning of immortal presence in his back. Still, he could not make out where, exactly, his second opponent was. He started to turn and move to the left, to get them both in front of him, when suddenly he heard a loud call:

"Watch out! Behind!"

He reacted instinctively and jumped to the side. He more felt than saw the stroke of the sword that just barely missed him. The enemy in front of him wasted no time and used the advantage the distraction gave him. He lunged, and his sword connected. Methos took a sword strike to the ribs. He managed to turn slightly in just the last moment, so the strike glanced off his ribcage and didn't pierce his lungs.

At least, he had both enemies in front of him now, encumbering each other. Methos tried to gain the safety of a wall in his back, but he had to avoid another stroke of Geraldy and lost sight of he other man. His enemy's feral grin warned him that the second attacker was right behind him, but he could do nothing about it. The grin suddenly froze, and the eyes of his opponent grew wide. At the same moment Methos heard a soft noise behind him like metal connecting with flesh, and a choked intake of breath. He didn't bother to look but landed a hard blow with the pommel of his sword to his enemy's collarbone and a vicious kick to his groin. The man stumbled back, and Methos took a step to the side to bring distance between himself and his two enemies. He risked a short look to his left and saw the second attacker staring in shock at the dagger that suddenly protuded from his chest. Just in this moment there was a thumping noise, and a second dagger staked the throat of the man, who managed a gurgling noise, then fell, his sword dropping out of suddenly lifeless fingers.

Methos looked up into the direction where the dagger had come from and saw a tall, blond man in fighting stance, graceful like a cat, standing some twenty steps away. He had a third knife at the ready, eyes narrowed, ready to throw. Their eyes met.

It took only a heartbeat, then Methos saw his first attacker lunging for him again in a powerful stroke, meant to cut him in two. Too late to parry. Instincts took over and Methos evaded the stroke with a turn of his body, then moved on, turning around in a full move like a dancer and decapitated his enemy with the same backhand move he had used to take out Silas. Geraldy never learned he had been killed, or what hit him. The connection of sword and body nearly dislocated Methos' right shoulder, and he was driven on by the momentum as his opponent's head fell. He barely managed to stop, regaining his balance, and watched the headless body collapse. He locked eyes with the third man, who had saved him, taking in his shocked expression; and only then it dawned on him what he just had done.

"Oh, shit!" was his only comment before the Quickening took him.

o o O o o

TBC


	3. Chapter 2 Nightwalker

**Stalking the Darkness**

****

by Aislynn

_ See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings! Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it!_

* * *

Chapter 2: Nightwalker

Hybert stared open mouthed as the white mist rose and he felt a strange, powerful energy gathering and surging. He stiffened and warily turned back. Then the first energy bolt took the other man, and he drew back as fast as he could, nearly burned by the hot, concentrated energy. It was nearly as disturbing as the sun, and he hurried to bring himself into a save distance. Only when he was some thirty steps away he dared to stop and watch.

It was awesome. Lightning bolts rose out of he fallen body of the beheaded and rose to the sky, turning around, searching a target. Then they stroke, grounding them into the body of the standing man, who was helpless to avoid them. He had risen his sword above his head and was screaming as if he was in great pain. The energy was surging further, and then it could not ground it self all together in the screaming man anymore. It build palpable, and then suddenly all the windows in the alley splattered at once. Hybert took in his first breath in a full minute. **_'That's it!'_** he thought. In the next few minutes there would be a lot of outraged people at the windows, screaming for the police... or not. After all, it was summer, and time of vacation. If they were lucky, there wouldn't be so many people at home... and they were near the university in a rather deserted district. Anyway...

Finally, the energy storm ended. The man he watched stopped screaming, slumped, then moaned and fell to his knees, crouching on the ground. The energy vanished. Then, there was only this man remaining, crumbled into a ball, somehow still sobbing silently as if he was still in pain. Hybert stepped warily closer. The sobbing ended. The man on the ground rose his head and stared at him. Then he finally managed to get back on his feet.

He looked like a cornered animal.

o o O o o

Methos saw the man who had just saved his life and watched him taking a Quickening warily coming closer. Not a watcher, then; or he wouldn't have interfered, and obviously he never had seen a Quickening before. And besides, Watchers didn't use to carry a set of deadly throwing knifes.

Nor did ordinary passants or harmless tourists.

And aside from that, for being anything normal the man seemed far to calm.

The man came closer, watching him in obvious curiosity. Their eyes met again, and only then Methos remembered where he had seen him before. It was the man of the party.

The man stopped just in front of Geraldy's corpse and a few, wary steps out of the range of Methos broadsword.

"Oh," he said with some awed surprise, "you are one of **them**".

Methos narrowed his eyes again, quizzically. "_Them?_"

The man nodded. His voice, as he got on, caught something like the quality of a sing-song, as if he was quoting an old tale.

"Them. Daywalkers. Walking the day, still breathing, but living as long as our kind. Forever hunting each other, fighting to survive. The winner drinking the losers power to add to his own strength. I've heard tales about you, but I've never met someone of your kind before; at least if I did, I did not recognize them."

Methos asked warily: "Tales? What kind of tales? And who told them?"

The other man smiled.

"Oh, only some tales that something like your kind exist. And I've been told them by the oldest of my kind. The oldest ones I know," he corrected himself, still watching in curiosity.

Methos narrowed his eyes further. The other man was no Immortal, not even a pre-Immortal. But he was no normal human either. His voice was too calm. He stood to still. And while he himself was still breathing in heavy heaves the other man seemed to breath very flatly, visibly only when he spoke. His eyes were oddly light and his skin was very pale, even for European standards...

"And what exactly **are** you and your kind?" he finally asked, shunning away from the absurd idea forming in his head.

The smile of the man deepened, and then, for the first time, he bared his teeth, showing his canines. Canines that could be considered as way too long, if one looked closely. It was only for a moment, than his upper lip covered his teeth again, and the moment had been too short to be really sure. Still, Methos felt a chill running down his back.

"I'm one of the others," the man said. "Night-Walkers. Walking under the moon. Not sharing the gift of breath anymore. Banned from the light of the sun forever. But Immortal like you."

He shrugged. "But unlike you, we need blood to sustain us."

Methos stared.

"Vampires;" he translated, breathing almost in awe. He didn't know if the man was insane or if he indeed told the truth. But he had heard some tales, too. He just never had met one of them, and so he had doubted their very existence.

"Tell me you're for real!"

"I am," the man said. Then he shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head.

"I wondered about you. I followed you all the night because I felt you were something special, but I could not place you. I'm honored to meet one of you're kind."

He bowed his head a bit, but without leaving Methos for one moment out of his sight.

_Careful_, Methos mind stated automatically, _no easy target. _At least not if somebody near him had a sword.

"You stalked me," he said, and it sounded not a bit amused.

The man shrugged. "I was curious;" he stated nonchalantly.

"What about this one?" he nodded to the other dead body still lying at Methos feet. "Why didn't he gave some kind of a light-show, too?"

Methos seized him critically. "You don't know very much about our kind, do you?"

The man shrugged again.

"As I said, I never had the opportunity to meet one of you before;" he stated simply. "Will you behead him, too?"

"Why should I do that?"

The Vampire shrugged.

"I thought maybe that was what triggered the light show. After all, they both are dead, but this one-" he nodded to the headless body - "gave you his power, while this one" he nodded to the other, "did not."

Methos cocked his head, still seizing the man, trying to measure the kind of danger he might prove to be.

"Maybe this one was not one like me," he said.

The man shot him a quick look, then smiled again.

"Maybe;" he stated, obviously amused. "He **felt** like one of your kind."

Methos eyes narrowed further. "You can feel us?"

"In a way," The Vampire said warily. "I doubt that every one of my kind could recognize you as special, save perhaps the old ones. But I have some special talents. I can feel power."

He shrugged again.

"You feel... **older** than mortals. More weight of experience. So did your friend at the party. So did these two. So I think this is a characteristic of your kind."

He sighed.

"Do you mind stepping back a bit?" he asked then politely, but still amused. "Because I really would prefer to get my knifes back, now."

Methos shrugged.

"Be my guest;" he said, not stepping back at all. "I wont stop you."

A spark lightened in the eyes of the Vampire and his amusement seemed to deepen.

"Oh, you see, in the presence of long, pointy things I use to get a bit touchy..." he gave a nod to the other mans sword.

Methos could not help to smile a bit.

"Of course;" he answered sarcastically, then cleansed his sword at the dead mans clothes and stepped back. The Vampire crouched near the other dead body a moment and retrieved his two daggers so quickly that Methos couldn't have gone after him even if he had tried.

But he didn't. Whatever the other man was, if he indeed was a Vampire then legend had it that he would not easily be killed by a sword, and there were still his other knifes... and after all he **did** know how to kill one of them, now.

"You saved my live;" he said instead. "Why did you do that?"

The Vampire got up again and smiled.

"I followed you. I was curious about you. And I don't take it well if somebody I am curious about gets killed before I had any chance to know him;" he said, matter-of-factly. "Besides, it didn't look exactly like a fair fight."

He shrugged again. "At least, you said something like that..."

Methos tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Thanks;" he stated dryly.

Then he gestured to the end of the alley and added: "Let's get out of here!"

The vampire nodded. "Okay. Where shall we go?"

"We?"

"You have a better suggestion?" the man asked. "We have to get away. Whatever this light show of yours was, it made a lot of noise and played some merry havoc with the glass and cars around here. Now, you want to ask me some questions, I want to ask some of you. Any suggestion where we could go to talk?"

Methos eyes narrowed.

"Who says I will give you some answers?"

The other man smiled. "Of course you would prefer to let me walk away into the night without knowing anything about me after I just witnessed that ?" he asked with a small gesture to the two corpses.

Methos cursed. Without a further word he turned around and started to move. "Coming?!" he asked across his shoulder.

He was too late.

The sudden surge of Immortal presence alarmed him and then a soft gasp at his feet, as did the shocked intake of breath of the Vampire a half second later. He turned around. Then he added more curses to the first. Geraldys student was with them again.

Methos saw the Vampire stare with wide, then narrowed eyes, while the former dead man coughed, grabbed his throat and then finally pulled himself up to his elbows, staring around with wide, haunted eyes. He apparently registered the close surge of presence and gasped anxiously: "Marcel?! That you?"

In the same moment, the Vampire gasped: "What the hell?! He's not...!?"

Methos cursed silently under his breath and, before the student could gather his wits about him, laid his sword on the other man's neck.

"Stay put!" he commanded. "Your name is Phillip?"

The other man's face came around and huge, scared eyes met his gaze. The younger Immortal nodded, then ceased in the middle of the movement when he felt the cool steel at his throat. In a barely audible voice he asked "Where's Marcel?"

Clearly he wasn't thinking straight yet.

Methos sword caressed his neck and came up under his chin.

"He lost;" he said, deadly calm. "As did you."

Damn! Damn it to hell! He wasn't in any shape to take just another Quickening so close after the first; Marcel Geraldy's memories and feelings racing through his mind were hard enough. He had hoped to get away before the student revived, maybe get Mac to deal with him or at least deal with him later. Now he would have to take this stupid three-damnable youngsters head, and he wasn't ready.

Let alone in any shape to fight.

But it would be stupid to let the little bastard just walk away, now, either.

"Please!" Phillip sputtered, "Please don't kill me! I don't want to die! Please, I did only what he told me to, he forced me! I didn't want..."

Methos eyes became even more deadly.

"You broke the rules," he said.

Phillip swallowed. "Please!" he repeated. "Let me walk away!"

At least, the youngster showed promise. Not afraid to beg and trying to talk himself out of a situation like this... not a bad trait for the capacity of survival. Maybe, Methos mused, if he spared him, the kid would be capable to learn.

And he really didn't want to take another Quickening...

But at first he had to scare the shit out of him to make sure the boy would take his lesson to heart and stopped cheating in the Game like his teacher.

Coldly, Methos growled: "So you can try it again?"

"I won't! I swear!" Phillip choked. "It was his doing!"

"You would have killed me!"

"I wanted to save his head..." the boy whispered. His voice was small, pathetic. "Please! I won't break the rules again. Let me go!"

Methos sighed in annoyance and took his sword away.

"Oh, **all right**!" he stated, with just the right measure of growling in his voice, "I doubt your head's worth anything. Walk away. Just remember" - and with that his voice got a deadly, menacing quality and the steel of his blade caressed Phillips neck again - "come across me again, or break the rules again, and you're dead!"

With that, he removed his sword and stepped away. Not that he cared a bit if Phillip learned, or that he felt particularly forgiving, but he really did not want to take another head in the same night. One Quickening was more than enough to deal with.

He watched the boy scramble to his feet and bend to get his sword, turning to go. Then he looked at his strange companion. Too bad. So now the man knew for sure that only a beheading would kill them... He saw the alarmed expression on the vampires face a heartbeat before he heard his shout.

"Watch out!" - but he was already turning and his sword defeated the swinging blow at his neck in the last moment. In the very next, his instincts took over and with a sudden turn his blade sliced through the neck of the student, without giving him time for any further fight.

Geraldys student had decided to join his teacher. The Vampire moved back unnaturally fast, and Methos shook his head in denial as the mist reached for him, clung to his sword and braced himself. Then he screamed in mindless agony as the lightning bolts took hold of his body and yet another mans mind swept his spirit and fought for a place in his soul.

When Methos came to himself again, he heard sirens nearing over the thundering in his ears and strong, but unaccustomed cold hands grabbing his arms, sneaking under his shoulders and dragging him up and away.

"Come, Damnit!" he heard an unfamiliar voice. "We have to get out of here!"

Before he could start to think, he was half dragged, half carried away and finally the other man just picked him up and ran away from the approaching sirens. It was several blocks away behind a safe entrance, when he finally put him down.

Methos heaved shaking breathes; his body was still trembling from the energy overload. The other man was not even breathing shallow. No, Methos registered, with a start; in fact he **did not breath at all! **But there had been this gasp of shock before... must have been old habit.

Trembling, he concentrated on gathering his wits and looked around him. His eyes grew wide. He knew this place. This was the middle of the Arena de Lutete. He had seen it when they still had held games here, and later... now it was a tourist attraction. But at this time of the night, they were here alone. But this was several streets away from where the fight had been! How...

Shaking, he rose his head and gazed in the other man's eyes. "You can fly, too?" he asked.

The Vampire laughed and shook his head.

"No," he said, "but I can move very, very fast. Here they wont find us. And I am sure nobody saw us going."

He had moved too fast for this, risking to give some unsuspecting mortals a scare, but he didn't say this. At least, they were safe from detection by the police.

Methos tried to calm himself. Not easy with every bit of his nerve ends hurting and the energy of two Quickenings racing along his nerves. Let alone the mind of two killed Immortals fighting his own for control. One alone was hard enough. Two...

A single thought formed in his mind, and took residence there.

Duncan! He had to go to Duncan! He had felt the Highlanders shock and desperation in his soul in the moment the first Quickening took him and the energy overflow surged across the strange link they shared since Bordeaux towards the Scot, and the even greater shock during the second Quickening just before he himself had passed out. The Highlander must be out of his mind by now, sick of concern. He had to get to him! But he knew with certainty that, while he wasn't that far away from the barge, he never would made it there without help.

Alright. Take the Vampire with him to the Highlander. At least, Duncan would want to meet the man who, twice in this night, had saved his lovers life.

Gasping, Methos forced out: "I have a friend nearby, who can give us shelter. If you help me, we can get to him."

There was no alternative; he could not afford a cabby with the police looking for a killer and the torn state of his clothes, and he could certainly not make it to the barge alone in his current state. And his cell phone was fried by the Quickening. Again. This started to get annoying.

The vampire nodded.

"Let's go, then," he said.

"By the way," he added, while his left arm sneaked under the right shoulder of his compagnon, "my name is Hybert de la Mare. May I ask yours?"

Methos gave him a tired, crooked smile.

_Carefully to the end_, he thought. _Trapping his sword arm. Devious bastard! _But at least, this way he would be able to walk, somehow.

Starting to move, with the strangers subtle assistance, he answered:

"Adam Pierson. And I'm pleased to meet you."

TBC

* * *

__

So, so far this way. What do you think? -- Aislynn


	4. Chapter 3 Back at the Barge

**Stalking the Darkness**  
**by Aislynn**

_ See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!  
Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it!_

* * *

Chapter 3: Back at the Barge

Duncan MacLeod cursed silently under his breath as he stepped out of his car. No light. The barge was dark. More important, it was also empty. There was no buzz. The Old Man hadn't come home.

Or, worse, he'd **had** come home and had left again. The worst-case-scenario plaid itself out in Duncans head as he rushed to the door, nearly losing his keys while he fought with the offending lock. Finally the door opened, and he turned on the lights. Methos could not really have taken their misunderstanding at the party this seriously, could he? With caught breath, he looked around. He almost sighed with relief. No, Methos had not been in, his things laid around where he left them when they got out for the party this evening. The abandoned sweater which had been thrown at the couch, as had been the Jeans when Methos had dressed up for the party. Only the Jeans had been picked up by Duncan and neatly folded and placed on a chair. The three or four favorite books Methos was currently reading, spattered around at the barge where the old man had left them whenever he was distracted from burying his nose in one or the other. The seminar notes of one of his college courses that still sat on the desk he was sharing with Duncan, right near his laptop. And his old second duster he still preferred sometimes in odd reminiscence to his late graduate students persona, that had now changed into doctor for linguistics and college-professor.

These things still around indicated that the old man was not about to pull one of his famous disappearing acts.

Or would he? None of these things was of real value to Methos, nothing he would think twice about leaving behind... In a rush of cold panic Duncan did a quick search of the barge until, at last, he found what he was looking for. It was in fact where it belonged, in the drawer of Methos night stand. Carefully MacLeod took out the leather bound book and opened it. Yes, there they were, odd signs of script in the familiar writing of the old man, written in an old language probably only Methos or some other linguistic professor would know to read. Some passages, still, were in Greek, others in old English. His lovers latest Journal, the one he was currently writing.

Tenderly stroking over the cover, Duncan gently closed the book and put it back. Not gone, then. Methos would not disappear without his Journal, not even just for a week.

But if he wasn't going to disappear on him again, then where was he? It was two a.m., not necessarily a time when the town closed down, but at least he would have expected Methos to be home by now. Maybe he had hit a bar? Feeling uncomfortable again, Duncan scowled at himself. Right, as if there was much to worry. After all, the man was five thousand years old! _Give it a break, MacLeod_, Duncan thought. _He is more than capable to take care of himself. Hell, he's probably just gone to his own apartment!_ But still he could not help to worry. _Damn it, Old Man, all this mess just over a little misunderstanding!_ He thought, feeling more disappointed and uneasy by the minute.

Well, there was nothing he could do until morning, anyway. Tomorrow he could call he Old Man, try for a meeting over breakfast, find a way to mend fences and find out what, exactly, it had been that had Methos spooked...

Sighing again, he tiredly turned around to shrug out of his jacket.

It was then the backslash of the Quickening took him.

Duncan went pale as the energy surged though him, flooding his mind, and his knees gave way under him. In his mind, he could feel Methos pain, his shock, feel him scream under the onslaught of pulsing power. The Old Man had been in a fight! He survived, but for moments Duncan shared his agony, saw the shattering glass and the darkened alley through Methos unseeing eyes. Then it was over, and Duncan went to his knees in relief. Methos lived! He had been in a fight, but he'd won it! In a rush, he jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat and went out of the barge. _The old man needed him now. _If he could find out where the Quickening had taken place, if he could get to him... Methos cell phone would be fried, but perhaps the old man managed to find a pay phone...

He had just gotten out and to his car when the backlash of the second Quickening went through his veins and nerves and made his soul scream.

He went down, nearly unconscious, flooded by energy and pain. Fear screamed in his soul, followed quickly by rage. Two?! Who the hell were these challengers who fought two on one? Then the fear and rage changed to panic when the second Quickening finally subsided and with it his link to the old man faded to nothing. Cold dread grasped his heart and made him go up on his feet again. No!_ No!!_ The old man could not be dead, he could not... he would have **_felt_**.. then the first panic subsided and he willingly stilled himself, reached into himself and sought out the link, this quiet whisper of _awareness_ that he never quite lost ever since the shared Quickening in Bordeaux. He doubled nearly over with relief when he found it. The ancient was not dead, he was only... **_unconscious_**, provided his mind, and he inwardly cursed again. The second Quickening had been too much; Methos had gone out on it.

He needs me, Duncan thought and made himself cross the last few feet to his car.

Then he heard the nearing sirens. From the sound of it, they were directed at the area of the university.

Damn! No way to get there before the police did! And it was all he needed being caught in a Street control near a murder scene with two beheaded victims, carrying a sword... Cursing, he went into the car and drove off to the area where the sirens seemed to be heading to.

o o O o o

Half an hour later, Duncan found himself back in front of the barge, gunning the cars engine. As he went out of the Citroen and headed to the boat, he swore under his breath. He had not made it in time, the police had been there before him. And they had closed off the whole area, there was no getting through. MacLeod had been just stopped long enough to check his papers, then he'd been shooed off along with bunch of bystanders, tourists and other curious nightly crowd. No sign of Methos.

That was the good part, though; the police hadn't got him, then. Somehow, the old man had managed to escape in time. So all Duncan could do now was stay put and wait. Methos would get home eventually. No point at chasing around, not being there when he made it and probably drawing the wrong kind off attention. Damn! He already could count on a visit of some inspector or other in the next days or so, questioning him what he was doing at this time of the night near the university...

Duncan gritted his teeth, pacing the long living room of the barge like a caged animal, struggling for patience. He nearly went down with relief when finally the unmistakable caressing surge of his lovers Immortal presence hit him.

o o O o o

By the time Methos and his helpful new acquaintance finally made it to the barge it was nearly three a.m. Although the way itself had not been that long, Methos' shape and exhaustion as well as the need to dodge both the police cars and possibly curious tourists or bypassers had slowed them down considerably. When they crossed over to the side of the boat, Duncan already waited for them at the deck. He made a move as if to hurry to the side of his lover, then stopped cold when he realized Methos was not alone, and a stranger was with him. For a moment, he froze, then he simply went down the gangplank and to Methos' side.

Duncan took his lover's arm. Methos was obviously tired and the effort it cost him to hold himself on his feet was palpable. MacLeod felt the Quickening energy of the two taken heads still humming around him, surging through the Old Mans presence like a current. And he was tense, tightly leashed as if he was about to snap any time now.

**_Quickening,_ **Duncan thought, well familiar with the signs and already planning how to deal with them. He steadied his grip on Methos body, giving support. Methos looked terrible; his clothes under the dirty coat were shredded and bloody.

"Adam!" Duncan grated out, all too aware that they were not alone so he could not use Methos true name. "What happened? Are you all right?!"

He gave a startled look to the stranger who had accompanied his lover, frowning when he only now recognized the man at the party who had started their argument.

Methos gave a relieved sigh and relaxed a bit into his hold.

"I'll live," he said. Then he went on with some effort:

"Duncan, this is Hybert de la Mare. He saved my life tonight. It's all right; he knows what we are. Monsieur de la Mare, this is Duncan MacLeod, a... very close friend of mine."

He sighed again. His voice was raspy. All he wanted to do was lose the other man -Vampire? - and take Duncan into the barge, screwing his brain out. After a hot, long shower, preferably in his Highlanders company. But first they had to speak to the man, find out what a measure of danger he was going to be... within, he still felt the foreign Quickenings racing across his nerves, refusing to settle, the extra energy making him restless. Violent. He took a deep breath and calmed himself with effort.

At his side, the blond stranger, who had politely stayed back during his and MacLeods reunion, gave a small bow and extended his hand to the Highlander.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. MacLeod," he offered. "However, since there are currently a lot of busy policemen out and about looking for the participants of a sword fight, may I suggest that we take this inside? I belief Monsieur Pierson would like to have a few questions answered before he is comfortable with letting me leave."

His calm, schooled voice held a slight undercurrent of amusement. Duncan unconsciously registered the slightly French accent and the soft, light baritone of the man.

MacLeod gave him a startled look, frowning at the mans impertinence. Then he cast a questioning look at his lover. Methos gave an exhausted shrug.

"He saw the fights, Duncan," he quietly said. "He saw me take them."

Duncan briefly stared at him, startled by the unusual use of his given name almost as much as by the words. A sign of Methos exhaustion? This is important to him! He thought.

He shrugged and turned to the other man.

"Come inside!" he offered, already helping Methos along the plank up to the boat.

The stranger stood for a moment, cocked his head and regarded the barge, then the Highlander with an intent look. A nearly imperceptible smile played across the corners of his mouth. Then he gave a shrug, shook his head slightly in some kind of bemused amusement and followed his two hosts on the deck of the boat and into the living room.

Once inside, Methos shrugged out of his bloody, torn coat and threw it carelessly at the floor in the small pantry of the barge, where it would not leave bloodstains that couldn't be removed. Then he went straight to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Opening it and gulping half the bottle down, he leaned himself against the counter. Taking another gulp, he turned to face his lover.

Mac stood nearby, carefully avoiding to touch him in front of the stranger, but hovering close. The third man had just shrugged out of his coat and placed it carefully at the coat rack. He had closed the door behind him and now slowly entered into the main room.

"So, what happened?" Duncan asked softly, trying to tune down his apparent annoyance and uneasiness at the presence of this stranger and the thought that this man witnessed a Quickening, or Methos taking a head. It would not do to bank down on Methos while the other Immortal was wired on the effects of an unsettled Quickening, much less two. Not that he himself was feeling much calmer.

Methos leaned himself more firmly against the counter, barely holding himself upright. He wanted a shower, and he needed to get these Quickenings settled. He wanted to get his hands on Duncan, now! Another part of him wanted to lash out, destroy something, anything, or somebody, he didn't care. Quickening effect, he knew, the last struggle of the two alien souls he'd just taken in against her death. But knowing it, having experienced it a thousand times, did not make it a tiny bit better endurable or comforting. It just reminded him why he hated taking Quickenings so much and avoided it nearly at all cost.

**_'It will pass'_** his mind provided him, **_'It will pass!'_ **and he held to that thought like a drowning man. But the knowledge didn't made the feelings easier.

Tiredly and exhausted, he reined himself in and concentrated on his worried lover.

"There were two of them, Mac;" he offered, although he knew that his lover, of course, knew this. But the stranger didn't, and he saw no need to share this information with him.

"They worked together. Trapped me between them. I tried to talk them out of it, but I couldn't. They left me no choice."

He shook his head.

"Student attacked me from behind while his teacher fought me. Without this Misters intervention, I'd probably be dead."

The stranger smiled.

"My pleasure," he said nonchalantly. "You're welcome!"

Duncan faced the stranger.

"I have to thank you, then, Monsieur... de la Mare, was it?" he said, studying the man, and hardly capable to hide his distrust. _What had the guy doing around Methos near enough to walk into a challenge, in the first place?_

"You warned him?" he asked.

The stranger smiled again. "Well..."

Beside Duncan, Methos drained the beer bottle, then shook his head.

"He killed him," he interjected. "Killed the student. By throwing a knife, I might add."

Duncan stared. The stranger shrugged.

"As I said before, it did not look exactly fair to me," he said. "I couldn't bring myself to avoid intruding."

Duncan's eyes narrowed.

"You do that often?" he asked, a bit more hostile than he wanted to let out.

Methos voice brought him back into rein.

"MacLeod, he saved my life," he stated quietly. "And the other guys attacked first."

Then he added:

"I could not avoid to take the teachers head, to end the fight."

Duncan nodded. Of course, if he could, Methos would have made sure to avoid having a stranger witness a Quickening.

Quietly he asked: "And the student?"

"I offered him to walk away. When I turned my back, he attacked," Methos offered.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not," The Highlander said. "At least you are still alive!"

**_'And the other guys broke the rules first' _**he added mentally, to calm his qualms about a mortal intervening into an Immortal fight.

He turned to the stranger.

"As I said before, I have to thank you, then," he repeated. "You saved a man who means a lot to me. I owe you."

He paused a moment.

"Are you with some kind of Secret Service?" he asked then, a bit uncomfortably. At the short, amused look of the other man, he added: "Special Forces?"

The stranger shook his head. His amused smile grew deeper.

"Not exactly, no," he answered. "I just happened to be nearby."

Duncan threw a questioning look at his lover. _Right! _he thought, with growing frustration. _As if!_

He wished Methos, or at least the stranger, would quit playing games and finally tell him what's going on. Also, he wished nothing more than get rid of the guy, so he could take care of Methos. On the other hand, if the man would have been police, or pose a threat of exposition, Methos would never have risked bringing him to the barge. And Methos was right, the man had witnessed a Quickening and knew about Immortals. They needed to know more about him before they could allow him walking off.

He shook his head and finally decided to play along for a bit longer. He made a gesture as if he was remembering just now his duties as a host.

"But I seem to forget my manners! Take a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?"

De la Mare smiled. "Thank you!" he said, "but no, I'd rather not drink anything at this time."

Inwardly, he thought with some regret that MacLeod would probably not uphold the offer if he knew what kind of drink his guest would prefer - pity, that, but not to be changed, of course.

He decided to turn down the offer of a seat as well and rather came over to lean comfortably against the corner of the wall near the stairs, beside the fireplace.

Mac, in the meantime, had gotten himself a scotch and offered Methos a double one. Anything to numb this edge of the Quickening...

Then he turned back to his guest and studied him with a long look. He certainly did not trust him, and his being around when the two Immortals attacked seemed a little bit too convenient.

Time to ask the stranger some questions!

TBC


	5. Chapter 4 Issues of Morality

**Stalking the Darkness**  
**by Aislynn**

_ See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!  
Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it!_

* * *

Chapter 4: Issues of Morality

Slowly, Duncan lifted his glass in a silent salute to the stranger.

"Excuse me, Monsieur de la Mare," he began carefully, "if I sounded suspicious. We owe you a lot."

He took a sip of his whiskey, then he added deliberately: "It was a really fortunate coincidence that you happened to be around in the area." He leaned back at the pantry beside his lover, unobtrusively touching him, thigh to thigh. "I seem to remember you were at the party earlier this night?"

The stranger gave a noncommittal smile and inclined his head. "Yes, I was. I left early. It was really most fortunate," he answered easily.

Duncan glowered. Methos decided to change the subject.

_Time to handle that particular issue later._ He remembered only too well the spark of jealousy first on his, then on Duncan's side which had started the whole mess of this evening.

"I was astonished, Monsieur de la Mare, at the way you killed the guy attacking me," he stated. "Not that I'm not grateful, mind! A gun I would have expected. But why do you use knifes?"

Hybert shrugged. Highly amused. he decided to play along.

"I could never bring myself to get really comfortable with swords," he clipped nonchalantly. He smiled at the two Daywalkers. "I learned to use them, of course, mind..."

"You did?" MacLeod asked, highly confused.

What was the man talking about? He was not an Immortal! At least, there was no sign of _presence_, although _something_ in the man made him uneasy in a way he could not pin down. _It was something about his behavior, about his body language..._

"Of course," the stranger answered. "It was common to learn handle them when I was young. Not that I was expected to have much use of it, but they seemed to think I should at least know how to defend myself before they decided I would make a great monk. Oh, I had other ideas, but then..."

MacLeod threw a look at Methos in utter confusion. At a complete loss, he asked:

"Just how old are you, anyway?"

He'd nearly added _"how old **do you think** you are,"_ but caught himself at the last moment. If this was some kind of a madman, better not upset him by insisting on reality before they had decided how to handle this.

The stranger gave him a half smile, enjoying his confusion.

"Let me think..." he drawled. "That would be... oh, about 800 years?" he shrugged. "Plus or minus a few. They keep changing calendars, and the way to count time when I was young was highly different from now."

MacLeod turned around and gave Methos a questioning frown. Then he turned back to the other man. "Excuse me?" he sputtered.

Methos ignored him. "And the knifes?" he repeated his question.

The blond stranger turned back to him, enjoying the game.

"They are quiet, they cover more distance, and you can wear them completely discrete, unnoticed by anyone else," he said nonchalantly.

Methos shrugged. "So are guns with silencers," he pointed out.

The vampire mirrored his gesture. "They were not common when I was alive," he stated. "Why are you guys using swords?"

"When you were **_alive_**?!" MacLeod threw in, now completely lost. "What exactly **are** you?!"

Again, he stopped himself from phrasing the question as "_what do you **think** you are_". Something in this whole mess was very wrong, and Methos seemed to take the guy seriously...

The stranger and Methos shared a look. When MacLeod turned back to him, too, Methos gave an exasperated sigh. _He was not up to this, now!_

"You tell him!" he snapped at the vampire. "I need a shower!"

And with that, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving his lover and the stranger staring at each other in complete puzzlement.

MacLeod swallowed, then found back his voice.

"Please excuse my friend," he stammered finally, "he is not always this bad-wired. It's just..."

"Yes, I noticed," the stranger said. "He's quite exhausted. It is a side effect of the fights, I suppose? Don't worry, I'm not offended."

Duncan was torn between the impulse to follow Methos into the bathroom and take care of his immediate needs and his distrust of the stranger. Behind the man, he heard the shower getting started. He bit down his irritation and decided to take care of he business at hand.

_Later!_ he promised himself. _He would take care of Methos later! Hopefully soon..._

"What do you mean, when you were alive?" he got back to the conversation. "What, exactly, **_are_** you?"

Hybert tilted his head and looked at the Daywalker, amused. Skeptical, nervous, and quite a bit jealous; not too happy about his company... oh well. No need to postpone the inevitable.

He allowed himself a slight smile, not yet showing his canines.

"I am a Nightwalker," he said. "Banned from the sunlight and dependent on blood, but immortal like you, although we are not really _alive_ any longer. Not like you are."

He regarded the dumbfounded look on the face of his host and added dryly: "I believe the term most familiar to you would be **'Vampire'**".

Duncan stared at him.

"Right," he said and decided that the man had to be a nutcase. He could not really believe he would be able to sell them this story. On the other hand...

The thing that had disturbed him in the other mans body language... he realized suddenly with a start that it was the absence of all the odd little muscular movements common in every person and as involuntarily as breath. Speaking of... the other man **was** breathing far too low. If it had not been for him forming words, one could nearly believe he wasn't taking in some air at all.

It was disturbing. Of course, then, there **_were_** no such things as Vampires.

This man had to be either a brilliant actor, or a proven hunter, used to control his own body language down to the last little bit. Or he had to be a psychopath who really believed what he was saying and had immersed himself so deeply into his role, that he nearly confirmed the image. The thought made Duncan extremely uncomfortable.

Well, whatever it was, he was not ready to go along with it.

Skeptically he went on: "Like in Dracula? Turning into a bat, drinking blood, running from crucifixes?"

The stranger blinked. He raised his brows and quirked his lips for a moment.

"Actually," he mused, "if I had to chose an image of modern literature, I would prefer Sheridan LeFanu's 'Carmilla', or maybe Ann Rice. Bram Stoker had a few rather _peculiar_ ideas on the matter."

He shrugged.

"As for the crucifixes... that depends on the beliefs of the vampire. If you are convinced touching them will burn you, they will - much as they would with humans."

He shrugged again. "But if you wish - yes, in parts the picture would apply."

MacLeod seized him with an unbelieving look. The man seemed to be too much in control of himself to really be a nutcase. But then, what did he want?

"You really believe this, don't you?" he asked. "Being a vampire, I mean."

Hybert regarded his host with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. These Daywalkers seemed interesting enough, but this one was particularly slow with the uptake in his determined disbelief and his conviction that nothing as odd and mythical as real vampires existed. You would think that living a few centuries would open somebody's mind up to the possibilities of all things supernatural, especially given the fact that the guy was not too average himself with his neat trick of coming back from the dead at convenience.

Oh well, maybe this one was young.

He decided to give the man a few more pieces to the puzzle.

He smiled again, this time allowing his upper lip to slip up enough to reveal his fangs. "As it is," he said, "I have reason to do so. Do you have a mirror?"

Duncan shrugged. "Over there," he pointed.

His guest stepped slightly to the side so that the corner where he was standing was reflected in the appointed glass. Duncan looked, paused, the looked again. Then he whirled around and stared, disbelieving, at the man he could clearly see with his own two eyes. He turned again to the mirror.

The picture didn't change.

No reflection.

Incredulously, Duncan changed places until he was standing directly at the side of his strange guest. Then he turned to the mirror again.

The picture did not change. He could still see the corner where he was standing, himself, everything in this part of the barge, all of it reflected in the mirror.

Save the stranger who was standing just beside him. In fact, he **could** see the ornament at the wall right behind the place where the other man stood being reflected in the mirror. But not the man who bodily filled the space right at his side and caused a visibly shadow falling on said ornament.

A shadow, as he registered now, that Duncan could see, but that wasn't reflected in the mirror either.

In a sudden feeling of terror, Duncan stepped back.

'How do you do this,' was the first thing that came to his mind, and 'That's not possible,' but then cold believe and terror grabbed his soul, and a sudden, chilling certainty.

"It is true, then?" he asked instead. "You really are a - Vampire?"

The stranger shrugged. "Obviously," he said with a nonchalant air.

"You drink blood, you live on the blood of humans, every night?"

Hybert started to ask himself where this was going, but still he nodded. "I believe that's in the job description," he stated wryly. "As well as sleeping by day, fearing the sun, don't age, don't breathe, no reflection in mirrors, has to be invited into homes, can be killed by sharp, pointy, wooden objects."

He shrugged.

"At least that is the official mythology. A lot of it is actually quite accurate."

Duncan MacLeod meanwhile felt his ire rise by the unbelievable nonchalance with which this --creature was talking about killing. Killing humans. Mortals. Just as if they were something to... _eat?_

"Why did you really follow Adam after the party this night?" he asked, dangerously quiet. Mentally, he assured himself of the place where he had left his Katana.

__

At the right, behind him, near the armchair. Within easy reach.

Hybert felt himself starting to get annoyed. What did this man expected to hear?

He shrugged. "Honestly?" he asked. "Well, to be honest, at first I followed him with he idea to feed off him."

Duncan gave him a hard stare.

"Feed?"

The vampire gave it back calmly.

"Feed. Drink his blood. You know: go at him, knock him down, bite his neck, drink him dry. Usually the victim ends up dead."

He shrugged again. "In this case, however, I might have been in for a surprise."

MacLeod looked at him, dumbfounded.

Then his whole composure changed to anger. "You would have killed him?!"

The vampire gave him a short, seizing look, and shrugged again.

"Of course! As I told you, my kind needs blood to sustain ourselves. Human blood. Usually, as it is, the blood of mortal humans."

He cocked his head.

"In this case, however, technically it would not have ended as a kill, because the victim would not have stayed dead. But of course, I did not know that."

Duncan MacLeod grew very cold. Carefully he edged closer to his Katana. "So, what changed your mind?" he questioned coldly.

The vampire shrugged once again. He eyed him calmly.

"As I said, I was intrigued by the feeling I got of his mind. His psychic 'weight', if you want to call it that. He did not feel like a normal human. I never met someone like him before. Or like you."

Duncan quickly made the connection. He found his sword leaning by the chair and grabbed the handle, bringing it up in one motion. He saw the vampire taking a step back, then admiringly watching the sword with knowing eyes. He did not, however, seem too disturbed by it.

Duncan did not wait for him to comment. Icily, he grated out: "But if he _had_ been a normal mortal human, he'd be dead by now? just so you could _feed?_"

The vampire eyed him suspiciously.

"If he had been a normal mortal human, I might not have followed him in the first place," he corrected calmly. "But then again, I might have. And yes, in this case, he would be dead by now. Probably," he allowed. Then he added: "What do you plan to do with that sword, attack me?"

MacLeod eyed him with hatred. He did not answer to the creature's question. Instead he hissed:

"What do you do, kill a human every night? Just to slake your thirst? It is that easy to you, to kill? Just like that?"

The vampire didn't move. He eyed him coldly. In his eyes gleamed steel.

"Of course I kill! What do you expect me to do? _Mortals are prey._ I live on human blood," he said. "My whole kind does."

MacLeod took a step at the creature, threateningly raising his sword.

"Get out!" he said, very coldly. "Never come around this place again. Better leave Paris!"

He paused, and then added very deliberately: "If I come across you ever again, I **will** find a way to kill you."

The vampire cocked his head again and gave him a last, long, measuring look, then he nodded his head curtly, as in a courtly greeting, and turned to leave.

"Give my regards to Adam," he said, then he calmly left the barge.

A moment later, he was gone as if he had never been there.

It was only then that the shower stopped in the bathroom.

o o O o o

TBC

* * *

All right, That's it for now. What do you think?

The Vampires in here, by the way, are of my own concept, not from the Buffyverse nor from Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles nor from White wolf RPG either (though a few influences of the last two might be found).

Next chapter will probably be rated R for darker elements of horror, since it deals with "Feeding Habits." Also, there will be a bit more about the slash relationship side...

Aislynn


	6. Chapter 5 Feeding Habits

Stalking the Darkness  
**by Aislynn**

Sorry it took me forever to update. Real life (read: my job) has me back in it's ugly clutches and it doesn't leave me much time to write. I also had a few special problems with this chapter because I could not really decide how best to dispose of some suspect clothing. In the end (and this revised version) I rather followed the Inspiration by another story: Rhiannon Shaws marvelous "Law of Averages". Go read it, it is great like everything she writes!.  
  
However, I took the time to go over the last chapter once more and tried to polish out the more obvious grammar and spelling errors. What reminds me: if any of you out there would be willing to grammar check this thing, I would be grateful. Just contact me! I use the spell check of my writing program, but I have no grammar check to go with it. Besides, even if I had one I still don't know how helpful it would be to non-native speakers (hell, the **German** grammar check of Word is not very helpful at the best of times, and there I am at least capable to judge it!).  
  
A great thank you to all who reviewed this. It is great to know you don't consider this story not a total loss so far!   
  
**BethCarielle:** Special thanks to you. I'm glad you find the rapport of Mac and Methos is working! As for the spelling errors and grammar, I will revise the former chapters as soon as I find time to do it.  
  
**Corolain**: Thank you very much for your review and encouragement, your support keeps me going!

**__**

Disclaimer and warnings:

See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!   
Additional warning: SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it! This chapter is most definitely **rated R** for male/ male situations, violence (cold-blooded murder) and horror. It is dealing with boys loving boys and the gruesome feeding habits of vampires. So, if you don't like that or are under age to read this, **turn back** **now!**

And now, on with the story.

****

Chapter 5: Feeding Habits

MacLeod sighed and went to lock both the doors of the barge. He'd had about enough of any kind of visitors tonight, especially of the kind of the last one. Only then he relaxed enough to put aside his katana, but he kept it in easy reach. That recent night guest had him nervous, and he didn't trust him not to suddenly return.

Listening to the quiet noises coming off the bath room, he quietly went into the little galley and picked up his lovers torn and bloody coat. He inspected it carefully. A total loss. They could only burn it; it wouldn't do to throw it into the trash, not with a visit by the police being expected in the next few days. Pulling a face, he wondered how he was going to tell his lover about this one. Methos was paranoid enough, and the expectation of police scrutiny would have him positively skittish.

Moodily, he searched the coat for Methos belongings and for hidden weapons, placing the found items onto a little growing pile on the couch table. His lovers second blade was soon accompanied by the fried cell phone and Methos brief case, as well as the sawn in leather sheath of the big broadsword. The sword itself was missing; obviously, his paranoid lover had taken it with him into the bathroom. As well missing was Methos gun, and any other possibly hidden blade. If Methos carried more weapons, he had them hidden on his body. Except... Duncan smiled when he finally discovered a long, hard piece of wire neatly sawn into a seam. Figures. Never leave home without it.

Shaking his head and regarding the pile a moment longer, the Highlander finally squatted down in front of the oven.

It was then that the bathroom door opened.

__________ o __________

Methos relaxed into the spray of the hot water. Slowly, he let the tightly wound tension in his muscles drain out of him and felt reality restore itself. Had he really believed the crazy guy out there was a real vampire? Here, under the warm spray of the shower and the hard, solid lights of MacLeods small, little bathroom it was hard to believe. Even harder to believe he could have fallen to the crazy story of the raving nutcase out there. Of course, then, he was under the pressure of two Quickenings and had had a rather bad night. Still...

He sighed. Need and the energy of the two taken heads still ate at him, and for a moment, he wished Duncan would get rid of the stranger and come in to share the shower with him, and his hand traveled slowly down across his chest, the hardened nipples, to his stomach and deeper, to his loins. He sighed again. Unfortunately, the Highlander was not here, and had he been, there would not have been enough space in here for the two of them together anyway. One of the many complains Methos had uttered so far about Duncans living arrangements – aside, of course, from living on a _boat_ in general – had been the small bathroom and the narrow shower the barge could provide. The other constant complaint had been the amount of the hot water supply, that in Methos opinion was far too small.

But it did not take much to imagine broad hands on his back, massaging the knots out of his shoulders, then circling around to his breast, his stomach, lower... soft words whispered into his ears, lips on his neck... his own hand traveled down to the center of his need, and it took just a few strokes to reach his peak, then tumble over. 

Afterwards, he leant himself against the wall of the shower, resting and waiting until his breathing calmed again. Then, he quickly lathered himself, rinsed off and stopped the shower, snatching a towel. This was much better. It was not enough to settle the Quickenings, not even enough to abate the need for long, but it was enough to dull the edge. And if he had his way, there would still be plenty time this night to do something about the rest of the tension curling inside him.

However, first they had to deal with their strange guest, made sure to control any damage done by his watching tonight's light show; and he better hurried up if he wanted any chance that they could get rid of their strange night guest soon and go on to more pleasant matters. But he had to do something about the energy raging inside him. And still he could dream...

Sighing, the oldest Immortal slipped into the fresh clothes he had snatched on his way to the bathroom and gave his bloody, torn shirt of this night a mourning look. It had been one of his few classy ones, and one of his favorites, even more so since it had originally been MacLeods. He supposed the jacket had to go, too. Geraldys sword had left a nice, big hole in it.

Still, there was no help for it, so he dropped it on the floor, took his sword and left the bathroom.

_____________ 0 _____________

Duncan turned his head when he bathroom door opened and his lover emerged in a cloud of damp fog. Methos cocked his head at the unusual sight before him – MacLeod kneeling in front of the oven with his own torn and shredded coat – and then he looked around a bit puzzled. 

"Where's our guest?" he asked.

MacLeod left the coat where it was and got up. 

"He left," he growled. At Methos' questioning stare he added: 

"We had a disagreement."

Methos brows furrowed further and he stepped down the steps, then absentmindedly put his sword away right to the wall near the small galley. 

"You threw him out?" he asked, "why?"

MacLeod turned to him.

"Oh, I don't know," he answered grimly, "I suppose it was something about his eating habits. I think it had something to do with him killing humans quite regularly just to feed on them. Or with him starting out this evening planning to turn you into a snack."

Methos stared. 

"You did not really believe him this vampire crap, did you?" he finally asked, careful, as if threading on unsure territory. Out there, in the night, it had been easy to believe, for just a moment, that there was something to the strangers claim. In here, however, and much calmer now, he could hardly believe the guy had been able to fool him. 

Or MacLeod, for that matter.

MacLeod gave back a grim stare.

"Oh, I **do** believe, Methos! I have to! He had no mirror image! He showed me. He stood right in front of it and he didn't show up. And he didn't breath. At least he did not seem to do, save when he was talking. I... I have no other way to explain it."

Even as he talked, he blanched visibly, and his eyes grew huge. 

__

Except... No! That is not possible! He was defeated! I was sure he was defeated! Oh, please, no...

Shivering inwardly, he brought himself back under control and damped down on his feelings of panic and utter terror. Hard. 

There was no more millennial demon. Ahriman had been defeated by the champion, at least for another thousand years; he was sure of it. It was over. That stranger out there was another guy.

He felt more than saw Methos take a step closer, obviously concerned by his sudden discomfort, and shook his head, finding his lovers eyes again. Getting himself back on track he added: 

"And he had fangs. He convinced me."

Methos stepped carefully closer. He had seen the sudden look of utter terror on his lovers face and he could guess what was going on in his mind. He cursed inwardly, at the same time he sent a silent prayer to all the long dead gods who might actually listen_. _

Please, not again! He did not want to deal a second time with Mac turning delusional; the first time had been bad enough.

So. Time to nip this in the butt early on.

"Look, MacLeod, whatever that man claimed to be, of course you know, there are no such things as vampires? I have been around for 5000 years, and I never met one before."

MacLeod gave him a hard look. 

"Like you never met a demon?"

Methos sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. _There it was. _Just as he'd feared. The edginess he had felt earlier returned, and with it the wired-up tension and the crackling energy of the two still unsettled Quickenings that were raging inside his soul.

"Yes, something like that," he gave back. "Look, MacLeod, we have been over that already. I know I wasn't there, and I do not know what to think of it. But this..."

MacLeod shook his head.

"You never believed me. You didn't believe me then, although you believed Joe, but you never really took it for real. You thought we both were delusional. But it was real, Methos, it was there, and it was not only my delusion.."

He swallowed, hard. Turning away, he added tightly:

"Whatever you believed, I know what I saw!"

Methos sighed. He was too tense to address this right now; he felt his restlessness return, the aggressiveness, the familiar, wired up tension of post-quickening, poised for fight or flight. 

__

Let's deal with this crap later! 

There was only one way to end this conversation now, before it could dissolve further and end in a fight. Or at least the only way that he could think of **right now**. One that would not include violence. Like taking the troublesome Highlanders head or something similar rash...

Silently he closed the distance between him and his distressed lover and took the other man tightly into his arms.

"Look, Duncan," he said with barely restrained tension, "it's all right. I believe you saw _something. _As did Joe. It doesn't matter what it was. Whatever it was, it is over. All right?" 

In his arms, Duncan turned around to face his lover. He swallowed hard and slightly shook his head.

He drew a deep breath and willingly unclenched his shoulders. Tightly he said:

"It is _not _okay. But you will probably never believe me. I can't blame you; I doubt I would have believed it myself...."

Finally, he looked up into his lovers eyes.

"Well, whatever this guy was you brought back with you tonight, he wasn't human. He had no mirror image, and he didn't breath."

Methos looked at him, skeptically, and finally sighed.

"Okay. Let's just assume you're right, and his claim was real. I have to admit, I **have** heard some tales about these guys, as have heard tales of demons. It has just been a long time since I really believed them, and I have to say that I never met one of them, either. So, I assume, it **may** be possible..."

MacLeod nodded grimly. 

"You seemed less skeptical when you brought that guy home earlier tonight," he observed.

Methos sighed.

"I was hardly myself earlier tonight" he gave back.

__

Not that I am much better now, he thought, trying to get a grip on his slight trembling.

"Mac, do we have to talk about him? Right now I can think of a few more pressing things to do..." 

He snuggled closer to his Highlanders body, letting him feel up close one of those _things._

MacLeod felt his trembling, and took in his lovers still up-wired and painfully aroused state..

"No, I suppose we do not have to talk about him right now," he answered. He gave one last fleeting thought to he coat and the need of cleaning up the mess in front of the oven. 

__

Oh darn, it could wait until later!

"Let me take care of this."

Then his hands traveled down alongside Methos back, and made their way to his ass, and finally under up his sweater to his skin. 

"At last!" Duncan thought, as their hungry mouth found each other and he contentedly reveled in the touch of his lovers skin. 

"At last...."

______________-o ______________-

In front of the barge, the vampire stood a moment, motionless, then he sighed and turned away. _Time to find shelter._

The sun was under the horizon for hardly another hour or so by now, and he still had not fed tonight. He had barely enough time to find other prey. If he was really unlucky, he wouldn't be able to drink anything tonight. 

__

That is what you get for your curiosity, he wryly addressed himself. _And for your indecision about what to do with the object of it._ Then he started to walk. _Time to get going!_

Under the second bridge behind the mooring place of the Daywalkers barge he stilled.   
_A heartbeat_. Not on one of the other barges moored to the quay, but closer. Much closer.

He could it make out clearly, and it did not come from the early workers and nightbirds walking on the close streets, or from the bridge above. He could make those few heartbeats out, clearly, too, mixed with the background noise of the traffic. No, this one was nearby, to his right, under the dark bow of the bridge, and much closer. It was sluggish and low, too, so it belonged probably to a older person, sleeping.

He looked around, listening intently. Now he listened for it, he could hear the low breathing, too. Hen he saw him. A bum, one of the clochards, quite enthralled in some booze-induced dreams. He was sleeping in the warm weather under the bridge, above the waterline.

**__**

Perfect!

With a quick look around if anybody was up and watching, Hybert moved silently over to the sleeping mortal and closed down on him. Steely hands grabbed and subdued the startled form, as his hungry fangs found the unwashed, stubby throat.

No time to be picky! He disliked booze-polluted blood, and he felt disgusted at the smell, but he had to drink, before the **_THIRST_** drove him into a rage and robbed his control, and drink he would. So he ignored the smell, as well as the sick feeling of the booze in the mans blood, and drank deeply, relishing the feel of the warm, salty fluid that streamed down his throat, carrying fresh life and new strength even if it was only that of an old man, tired and worn down from living. 

The two Daywalkers had smelled all too excitingly, and the bloody mess of the two beheadings earlier that night had risen his hunger and worn thin his control. _What a waste!_ All this good blood, so full of life, gone to nothing! Too bad his new acquaintances had not felt like sharing a bit of their life force with him... 

With the blood, as always, came the emotions.

Hybert sighed in contentment, as the mortal in his arms went still, overwhelmed with the almost sexual excitement of the _kiss, _of the brief merging of souls, that went along with sharing his life force with the undead who drank it from him. Then came the memories. 

__

A woman, beautiful, young.... full of life, lovingly... then an old wife, burned out, a haggard. Fights. Screaming. A courtroom. The words of the man in the robe: Divorce. Painful, harsh, cutting word. And the relief: a bottle. Then there were more bottles, more booze, until it was all that mattered... losing work, being sent away with harsh words, after getting drunken once too often on the job.... Finally this hopeless life from bottle to meal to bottle, living on the streets, until his recent evening, his drunken sleep here, under the bridge...

He felt more than noticed the astonishment of the mortals mind as he, in return, experienced strange pictures of castles and medieval city streets, cast in nights darkness.

Hybert drank deeply, not concerning himself with trying to analyze the memories or stop the confusing dreams of medieval cities and of modern streets, swordfights and beheadings that flowed out of his own mind into that of the man. Nobody would believe the bum anyway and nobody would think it odd that he was feeling bad and a bit anemic for a few days. It would just be considered a side effect of the mans heavy drinking and his sick liver, if anybody concerned himself to medically look over that poor ruin of man in the near future at all. He doubted the bum would go see a doctor...

The slowing of the mans heartbeat alarmed him, just a moment too late, that he had overestimated the mortals health and drank to much. Then, much to fast, there was the overwhelming dizziness, sudden fear, panic – and the void, that was death.

Hybert recoiled and drew back. He had not drunken that much, had he? He had lost track of the amount he'd taken, but surely he had not drunken the man dry!

The unseeing, dead eyes of the clochard stared back at him, the last whispers of his living spirit dissolving into nothingness. 

Cursing inwardly, Hybert quickly licked over the bite marks in the dead mans throat. Normally, it had to be done while the victim was still living, and the vampires salvia could prompt the body of the prey into healing the wounds to make them disappear. It did not work with the already dead, because the body of the victim had to live to do the healing. But sometimes, cells would live a few moments longer than the whole body did. If he was really lucky...

No such luck. The last, automatic reaction of the dying cells was starting the healing, but it was not fast enough. The wound would not completely disappear. There would be bite marks.

Hybert licked his lips, straightened and quickly checked his surroundings. 

What a mess! He had not meant to kill the man; not that he felt any remorse, but all he needed was a body lying around, especially when it had rarely any blood left and wore vampire bite marks! And besides, of course, this one was a far cry from his _usual _prey. He simply had not counted on his victim having a weak heart and an already weakened state of health. Now, what to do?

Shrugging, he drew one of his knifes. Well, he guessed, better an unresolved murder than a mysterious one that looked like a vampire was running around and could pique the curiosity of the press.

Slashing two times through the throat of his victim with quick, experienced moves, until every bit of the bite mark was destroyed, he chided himself for his carelessness. 

__

Things like this will get you killed! This time for final! It seems arrogance truly is the bane of old age among our kind... You should know better!

Whatever he had told this MacLeod tonight, he could not afford to leave a trail of dead, bloodless bodies lying around where ever he went. Especially not if it hampered his hunt of his _real_ prey... When had he grown this careless?

Still softly cursing under his breath, Hybert rolled the body over the quay into the water and disposed of it with a splash. Quickly, the strong current drew the body away and under. Then he straightened and quickly moved on to the next entrance of the canal system, fleeing the growing light that licked through the sky and spoke of the coming dawn. He had to hurry to get to his resting place before the sun came up and stole his consciousness.

_________________ 0 ________________

Duncan opened bleary eyes to the ringing of the phone. Some time earlier, he had finally decided to move their activities to he bed and made good of his vow earlier that evening to show the old man thoroughly just how much he appreciated him. Later that night he had gotten up and had proceeded to dispose of the bloody coat and the torn and shredded shirt and jacket. His lover had refused to be risen. Methos had just rolled over and murmured something in the lines of "just dump it into the Seine, MacLeod". 

Tired as he was, Duncan had felt tempted and given it some thought, but had finally decided to chose the more secure option to first shredder and wash the things. The trousers could be saved, he supposed, given there were no blood stains on them. His tired inspection in the early morning light had revealed none. But better be safe than sorry. So he dumped the whole pile into the washing machine and turned it on. Then he had proceeded to polish Methos sword, to make sure there was no blood on it. He had just crept back into bed and buried into he pliant body of his lover, willing to sleep for once as long as the old man did usually. The persistent noise of the phone brought him up cold. Angrily, he got himself out the bed and moved over to grab the offending thing.

"MacLeod?"

There was a short pause on the other end, and then a familiar voice said: 

"Hi, Mac, it's Joe. You sound awful!"

Duncan sighed and went down to sit on the floor in front of the couch table.

"Hi, Joe!" he mumbled. "I had an long night." 

"Sorry to disturb you, " Joe drawled. He actually sounded amused. Of course, then, usually it was Mac who would be fresh and awake and Joe who would feel rather awkward at this hour of the morning. Occupational hazard of being a bar owner, MacLeod supposed.

"Yeah, of course Joe. Are you still in the States?"

The connection actually sounded rather like it.

There was a short pause. MacLeod imagined the old Watcher nodding.

"Yeah. It will take me a few more days. Maybe two weeks. You know...." he sounded apologetic. It was MacLeods turn to nod. 

"I know, Joe. Family business." Joe was in Seacouver for the wedding of his niece, Lynn Horton. Both Mac and Methos had offered to accompany him, but Joe felt that in this case he would better not turn up with his immortal friends in tow. Even so, these days his dealings with his sister were frosty at best.

"You okay?"

Over the phone, he could hear Joe sigh. 

"Don't ask. I think arctic climate is less frosty at times," he said. Then he added carefully:

"I hear the Old Man took someone last night?"

Duncan shook his head.

"News travels fast," he stated. 

"Hey, what do you expect? It's our job!" the Watcher answered. "So it's true then? It was the Old Man?"

Duncan sighed. It was probably too much to hope they could deny it. Still...

"You are not sure?"

"No such luck. The description Geraldys Watcher gave was very specific, although he did not identify Adam directly. But there are not as much other candidates in town." There was a short pause, then Joe added: "I suppose this is why he decided to contact me."

Duncan sighed again. Across the desktop, at the bed, he could see Methos stir, and he tenderly followed the lines of his body under the thick sheets.

"Yes, it was him. And he did not only take out one, Joe. They were two. The bastards were hunting together."

He could hear the old Watcher sigh.

"Yes, I know. Geraldy always used his students in this way before he released them. It was time that someone took him out."

There was a pause.

"Mac, about that fight... Geraldys Watcher said the winner had help, too?"

Duncans voice was grim.

"Yes, he had. There was a stranger who decided to get involved. Actually, this saved Adams life. He did not have his other... toys on him."

Joe said nothing. The silence over the phone was growing awkward.

"You know the guy?"

"He came to the barge shortly, last night. But beside that, no, we do not know anything about him."

There was a sharp intake of breath.

"So it **was** the same guy Adam brought home. I wondered!"

For a moment, Duncan felt his anger stir. Of course he knew that he and Methos were still being observed, even when Joe himself these days mostly relayed on themselves to report to him what was going on with them directly. But that did not mean he liked it more one bit. However, this was probably not the right time to get upset about it.

"How is it that you did not have a Watcher on the Old Man, but one observing my barge?" he asked, and privately thought that last night the fact that nobody was following Methos might have been just for the better. If that hapless Watcher would have managed to run into the guy they were talking about...

Joe seemed distracted.

"Oh, please, Mac, you know how it is. When the two of you are going out together, we usually send off just one of our guys to look after you. You know, efficiency and all that. Unfortunately, when you and Adam decided to break up last night, our guy decided that **you **were the one more likely to get into trouble. He followed you to the barge, but we lost track of the Old Man until he got back to you."

Duncan could not help to grin.

"You're lucky he **did** get back to me then. I'm afraid that we had quite he spat."

He shook his head.

"Joe, about that guy..."

"Yeah?"

"Be careful around him!" MacLeod warned. "Do **not** follow him! Don't set a Watcher on him or let your people get too close! He's dangerous!"

Joe's voice was grim.

"I know!" he answered over the phone. "This is part of the reason why I called."

He made a short pause.

"Mac, just after that guy left your barge last night... well, I am told he killed somebody there. Cut his throat."

He made another short pause. Then he added:

"Practically at your doorstep."

MacLeod stared unbelievingly at the phone, as if it had been offending him, and cursed.

____________________0_____________________

TBC

______________________________________________________________________

Okay, that's it for now. I know this chapter turned out rather long, but I felt there was no way to break it up in two nicely. I also hope MacLeod and Joe were not too greatly out of character; if you feel that they were, let me know. I'm flying without a beta reader here! 

The next chapter will bring the reappearance of an old and well know character of the Paris episodes of the first season, and an unwelcome police investigation concerning a few strange beheadings.... Go figure.

Aislynn


	7. Chapter 6 Old Aquaintances

Stalking the Darkness  
**by Aislynn**

_ ****_

Disclaimer and warnings:

_**See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!   
Additional warning: **SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it. So, if you don't like that or are under age to read this, **turn back** **now!**_

And now, on with the story.

Chapter 6: Old Acquaintances

Methos woke to an empty bed. He also could not feel the Highlanders presence anywhere. _Probably out for his morning run_, he thought and contemplated turning around for another round of sleep when a sudden surge of _presence_ made him jump out of the sheets and grab for his sword. Moments later he recognized the presence as the one of his lover and he sighed, let the sword go and let himself fall into the bed again. They'd been together a few month, but still the old habit brought him up before he could be sure it was MacLeod and could relax again. Add to that Duncan's irritating habit of early rising, and receive an usually grumpy Methos in the morning hours.

He blinked at his lover a few times. 

"Morning," he said, eventually deciding to sit up. "Did you bring breakfast?"

Duncan descended the stairs without comment, and finally Methos caught his grim expression. Rather alarmed, he got up and automatically went for his sword again.

"Something wrong?"

"You could say that!" Duncan growled. "Your friend from last night decided to leave us a present. He killed somebody at my door last night!"

Methos blanched, then reached for his pants and T-shirt. "Is it still there?"

Duncan stared at him without comprehension.

"What?"

"The body. Is it still there?"

MacLeod gave him a short look, then shook his head. 

"No. He dumped it into the water. The current drew it away. It's way down the river now. But I found some bloodstains under one of the bridges."

Methos drew his brows together. 

"Then how..." he paused. Understanding dawned.

"That was Joe on the phone earlier this morning, wasn't it?"

Duncan nodded and threw his jacket on the couch, Katana and all.

"Yes. He told me about the murder. He also said what happened to the body and that it was our friend. He originally called about your challenges. You left quite an impression with the Watchers last night, Old Man!"

Methos cursed.

"So they identified me?"

"Joe did. He called to confirm. How did you know you had not your own Watcher following you last night?"

Methos smiled.

"Because I went with you. They were bound to use it as a free evening for one of them. Standard procedure."

Duncan gave him a questioning look.

"It's standard procedure with established couples. You use one Watcher on them when they are together, except they go to work on different jobs," Methos explained. "Hey, Watchers need some time off, too."

Duncan sighed. Then he grabbed for the phone.

Methos shook his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Call the police. Tell them about the murder."

Methos shook his head.

"And tell hem what? Hello, I have this friend at the Watchers, they are a secret organization watching Immortals and recording beheadings, and they saw a murder at my place last night? **_Think_**, MacLeod! You can not tell them a thing,. There is no body! You did not see the murder. You only bring them down on our head."

MacLeod glared at him, but reluctantly put the phone down.

"What would you have me do?" he asked angrily. "We have to do _something!_ He killed someone, and he did it right here. I can't just ignore this!"

Methos gave him a skeptical look.. He drew his brows together.

"I just don't get it. Why would he do this? I mean, why here and just after he left?"

Duncan gave a short growl.

"Isn't that obvious?" he asked. "He challenged me!"

Methos drew his brows together. 

"Challenge you? Why ?"

Mac paced around, trying to get hold on his anger.

"We had an argument last night. When you were at the bathroom," he explained curtly. 

When Methos did not seem to react he explained grimly:

"About his feeding habits."

Methos cocked his head.

"— Feeding? As in?"

"Killing humans," Duncan said. "Killing them to drink their blood."

Methos straightened and made a face.

"MacLeod..."

Mac stopped his pacing and abruptly turned on him.

"You won't start this argument again, will you?" he asked harshly. "I told you, he was no human. I **saw** his fangs. And he had no mirror image!"

Methos sighed, a long-suffering sigh. He cast an skeptical glance to the portholes of the barge. Now, with the light of the early day seeping in, it was even harder to believe that the guy of last night had been indeed a real vampire.

Duncan watched him intently.

"Last night you seemed well ready to believe it," he challenged. And after all, **you** brought him here." He shook his head at Methos flat look and finished "I tell you, he wasn't human. I know what I saw."

Methos gave in.

"All right, I suppose it **_is_** possible...I've heard tales. I've never met one of these guys myself, before, but I heard tales about them. Of course, I always thought they were only legend."

"Like tales about demons?"

Methos sighed. Not this fight again! He decided to leave it. So he just went on: 

"Yes. Like that. Now, assuming this guy is, indeed, a vampire, why would he first rescue me from a fight and then leave you a body at your door?"

MacLeod gave him a sour look.

"Assuming? What else you think he'd be?"

Methos rose his eyebrows.

"A delusional psychopath who managed to catch you in his folly?"

"Oh, thank you very much!" Duncan scowled. 

"Anyway, either way he obviously did it to show me what he thought of my threats to him."

"Threats?"

"I've told him I was not amused," Duncan said, darkly. "I told him I'd kill him if I ever meet him again!"

For a moment, Methos was speechless. Then he stated dryly: "I have to say, MacLeod, you sure have a great way with strangers. This has to be some record of yours. Making a mortal enemy of someone you just met in just a few minutes."

MacLeod let himself fall onto the couch. "This isn't funny, Methos!"

"I did not say it was. Anyway, he obviously wasn't impressed."

MacLeod gave a growl. 

"Obviously. So, what should I do, if not call the police? I can not wait until he leaves another body at my door."

Methos shrugged.

"You can't involve the cops, either. They may connect this to the two beheadings of last night. Besides, **if** the guy is what he claims I think he has reason ton be as shy of the police as we. So he will not direct them toward us, I think not."

Duncan gave him a long look.

"And if he is, as you put it, just delusional?"

Methos gave a slow smile.

"Then he is bound to **think** that he has reason enough to avoid the cops as much as we do. After all, in either case, to his own understanding he is still a vampire."

MacLeod shook his head.

"All right. So, no involvement of the cops. They'll be here soon enough, anyway," he stated resignedly.

Methos have him a questioning look.

"Last night, before you came to the barge... when I felt you taking these Quickenings..." Mac trailed off. This was awkward enough already, and he feared his lovers reaction.

"I ... thought that you could use my help. So I went off to find you," he explained.

"Unfortunately, I was to late. The police was already there. They had shut off he area, and they stopped my car." 

He swallowed.

"They took my I.D. I suspect, they will come visiting in the next few days. Maybe even today."

Methos cursed. He threw his hands in the air. 

"Great! Just great!! First I am chased by two cheating Immortals through the streets, then I meet a bloody psychopath that commits murder at your doorstep, and then you have to point the cops right into our direction! Give them a call, why don't you? I swear, MacLeod.."

He trailed off. Exasperated, he turned around, slipped into his clothes and then reached under the bed to grab his suit-case. Duncan watched dumfounded, while he started to fill it with clothes and his books.

Finally, he found his voice again.

"What are you doing?"

Methos scowled.

"What does it looks like? Packing."

Duncan froze; then he sprang up, went over and snatched his lovers hands in his own. He pressed him against the wall. 

"No!"

Methos regarded him with some mild interest.

"Mac! What do you think you are doing?"

Duncan shook his head.

"No, Methos! Not this time! Don't run! Please!" he pleaded.

"Not over this!"

Methos sighed.

"MacLeod... " 

Duncan shook his head.

"We are no suspects, yet. Running now would just lead them in your direction. It will seem like an admittance of guilt. Like you had to avoid something," he argued.

"Please... do not do this now. Not like that!"

Methos sighed again. 

"MacLeod, that guy from last night saw me take those heads!"

Duncan shrugged.

"Well? Then he went on killing a passant. He has no way to give you away. And no way to prove it if he tried. Please. Stay. Let us go through this together."

He didn't release the Old Mans hands. 

Methos looked at him as if he was considering his options. Duncan knew that if he wanted, Methos could have put in quite more resistance.

Finally, the Old Man stated reasonably:

"Adam Pierson has to die sometimes soon, anyway, MacLeod."

Duncan drew his brows together. 

"What?"

"I've lived here too long. It is time to move on. The Watchers now I am immortal, but my colleagues at the Sorbonne start looking funny at me. I'll have to leave this identity behind me soon in any case. So, why not now?"

Duncan took a deep breath.

"Because," he said, "when you are to leave this time I want to go with you. So, we have to make it believable. We have to make it look inconspicuous. And we can not do that if you simply leave while the police is on your heels. And it will be, Methos, if you leave now. Or it will be on both of us, if we both do."

Methos gave a long suffering sigh.

"And waiting until they indeed **do** suspect us will make it better?" he asked.

Duncan shook his head.

"If push comes to shove we can find a way to die a public death and leave anyway. But not until we have to."

He finally released his lovers wrists and took his face into his hands. 

"Please," he pleaded. "Stay!"

He did not give his lover time to answer, but caught his mouth in a breathtaking kiss.

Methos felt his resolve melt under his lovers mouth. When Duncan finally let him up for air, he gave an exasperated shrug and gave him a small push..

"Oh, all **right**, MacLeod! But if I find myself thrown into prison, I will personally see you pay for it!"

Duncan smiled relieved and gave him a little more space to move. Methos reached out and pulled him again close to his body, then allowed his hands to room over it.

"Was this why you insisted to disturb our sleep by having the machine wash my coat in the middle of the night?" he asked.

Duncan, preoccupied with the exploring hands, just nodded.

Methos shook his head.

"Just see that you dump them into the Seine," he counseled. "In a way they won't be found!" Then gave his lover a last kiss and shoved him lightly out of the way to stalk to the bathroom.

Duncan looked after him. He did not know if that was a permanent victory, or just a reprise. But at least Methos had ceased packing. Hopefully, he would stay. At least, for the moment.

He carefully started to unpack the suitcase again – just in case. Then he sighed and went to dump the package with his lovers destroyed clothes into the river.

_______________ 0 ____________________

As it turned out, the police did not come until late afternoon, and when it came, it had the very familiar face of an old acquaintance.

"Inspector Le Brun!" Duncan said surprised, when he opened the door. "I am glad to see you! I was very concerned for you after that nasty incident with Carlos Sandaro. I'm glad to see you returned into service. So, you are back in Paris?"

Le Brun nodded. Duncan made way in the door and bade him in, and he followed the invitation, smoothly disposing of his coat in the process. Then he replied:

"Yes, half a year now. I took some years serving in the province, after my recovery." He made a grimace. "It was a close thing!"

Duncan nodded gravely. He took the coat and hung it to the wardrobe. Then he turned to his guest again.

"Please sit down, Inspector. I'm glad you recovered. That was an awful incident with that madman. And with a Machete, none the less!"

Le Brun gave him a sharp look, but followed his invitation and sat on the couch. Then, after a deliberate pause, he said:

"Funny you mention Sandaro. Now you mention it – wasn't he found with his head cut off? And you were around him when it happened, too. Interesting parallels, are there not?"

Duncan smiled broadly, and innocently replied: "Frankly, Inspector, I do not know what you mean." He went to the Galley and took out two glasses and a bottle of his best Cognac.

"Can I offer you something to drink?"

Le Brun shook his head, obviously regretful. "Not on duty, thank you," he said.

Then, he cocked his brow.

"Last night, there were two bodies found in the street, just in the neighborhood from where we stopped you. They had their heads cut off. You wouldn't know anything about it, would you?"

Duncan made a face.

"How awful!" he exclaimed. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I am afraid I can not help you. I know nothing about this."

Inwardly he thanked God that Methos was at the university right now, teaching his classes, and that he had dumped the traitorous shredded clothes his lover had worn last night into the Seine, tightly wrapped into a well secured plastic bag and weighted down with a few stone he kept in the ballast room. Hopefully, it would not be washed up for years. 

Afterwards, he had spent the remainder of the morning spent with cleaning the barge, especially the bathroom and the kitchen floor, and was quite sure that now it would hold out even against thorough inspection.

"Can not?" Le Brun asked, "You are sure? After all there seem to be a lot of headless bodies turning up when you are in the neighborhood... as I recall, Sandaro was found beheaded, too."

Duncan frowned.

"Wasn't he beheaded by the metro?" he asked, seemingly bewildered. "I do remember reading in the news about it at the time. It said to have been a most tragically train accident."

"One you were seen being close around, too," Le Brun added deadpan.

Duncans frown deepened. He looked insulted.

"You do not suspect I could have something to do with this?" he asked, seemingly wounded. "Inspector, please, I assure you..."

"Yes?" Le Brun asked, sharply. "After all, you **were** stopped with your car just a few streets from the place where the bodies were found. What were you doing there?"

Duncan shrugged.

"I was on my way back from a party," he said_. No need to involve Methos in this, not if it wasn't unavoidable!_ "Over at Lefebres."

Le Brun drew his brows together.

"The auction house company? Can you specify when you went there?"

"Of course," Duncan said. "It was between eight o'clock p.m. and half past one a.m. You can check with the host."

LeBrun made a notice into his book. 

"Thank you, I will do that. So you have no account for the time between half past one and the time you were stopped at Rue Saint-Jacques?"

Duncan shrugged.

"I'm afraid not. I was on my way home, Inspector!" he said with a winning smile.

Le Brun made another note. "Can you tell me where exactly that party took place?"

Duncan nodded. Inwardly, he sighed. Now, this could prove interesting.

"It was in the residence of the Lefebres," he said, "over at the Invalides. 44,Avenue Felix-Faure,. You know the place?"

Le Brun nodded and signed the address down into his trusted little book. 

"Thank you, I will check this with he host," he said. Then he drew his brows together.

"Now this I do not understand," he said. "Isn't that in the west of the town? You see, when you drove down from the Felix-Faure, why did you end up in the Rue Saint-Jacques? It is not on your way home, after all!"

Duncan sighed. He had expected this question.

He gave the inspector a winning smile.

"Curiosity, Inspector. When I came down the Boulevard de St. Germain to get to the Barge, I heard the sirens, and saw the gathering crowd. I couldn't resist to look what happened."

Le Brun made a face.

"We have enough trouble already without bystanders and onlookers, you know," he said. "I would expect you to know better."

Then he shrugged and made a last note into his book. 

"Very well, Mr. MacLeod. We will check your story, of course." 

Duncan nodded.

"So I'm under suspicion?"

Le Brun shrugged. 

"I'm afraid so," he said. "You have to admit it is a strange occurrence, that you seem to be present when we find some beheaded bodies a lot of times. There was that time with Kuyler, whom you obviously knew, and who was found beheaded; then Carlos Sandaro... I'm afraid I have to check your alibi."

"Kuyler was killed when I was with my wife, Inspector", Duncan said very calmly. "You yourself decided to drop the case. And Sandaro was not killed by me, either."

Le Brun sighed.

"So you said," he agreed. "Still, both times you were in the neighborhood, and you were around this time either. You understand that we have to follow this lead, I suppose."

Duncan nodded calmly.

"As you say, Inspector. Am I under arrest, then?"

The Inspector shook his head. "No, you aren't. But I must ask you not to leave town!"

He took a final sip of his cognac and placed it on the table.

"You know, it is interesting," he said then, "we fished another body out of the Seine this morning. A clochard, apparently. Nothing uncommon here, I regret to say."

He sighed and tucked his notice book away. 

"Except that this time, the bodies throat was cut, and apparently he died quiet recently." He shook his head. This city is growing more crazy every single day."

Then he looked up and caught Duncans eyes with his.

"You did not happen to hear or see anything out of order last night, did you?"

"Except for the sirens and the police that stopped me at the Quartier Latin? " Duncan asked. "No, Inspector, I'm afraid I didn't. Why?"

Le Brun shrugged and stood.

"Just curious," he said. "You see, the body was found downstream."

MacLeod made wide eyes.

"You think it could e the same killer?" he asked.

Le Brun shrugged again.

"I don't know, yet. If he was, he did not manage to follow through with this one. The victim was not beheaded like the other ones. However, whatever cut his throat was something sharp."

He gave MacLeod, who had gotten up himself, a hard look, the he made for his coat.

"I don't know if the three murders are related," he said while he put his coat on, "but I will find out." 

He smiled at his host and gave him his card. "Don't leave the city," he reminded, and then he went away.

Duncan saw him out and watched him go. He thought back to his fruitless call to last nights host this morning, to find out who had invited de la Mare and how to locate him. Lefebre had not been able to help him and had regretfully said that the invited guests had been encouraged to bring along company of their own. The stranger must have been among those. E seemed a bit bewildered by Duncans excuse that his friend Adam had heard the man mention some curious artwork Duncan was interested to buy in small talk, and now he wanted to find him to ask him about it; but he had offered to look for the mentioned piece himself, and maybe see if he could find the person Duncan looked for. 

Now MacLeod could only hope that he would not give the story to LeBrun or the good inspector would find himself in more trouble than he could imagine; after all, he had no idea what he was up against. 

Again. 

And besides, Duncan wanted the guy for himself.

Duncan nodded grimly to himself and grabbed his coat and headed out to the Library.

It was time to do some research about vampires!

____________________ o ___________________

Methos packed his books away and listened half-heartedly to the inane chatter of some of his students, who were just leaving the class. It had been a long day; he was quite eager to get home, again. And tomorrow evening there would be that faculty meeting he could not find a way to skip, since he had been informed that it was an absolute duty to any professor to show up. Great! Just what he needed when worrying about Duncan and the upcoming police research....

"So, Sybil," he heard one of the students say, "how was that famous party you went to last night, at Lefebres?"

Methos listened up. The young art history student had been there, too? 

The young woman answered with a laugh:

"It was booooring! You know, only all these high-wired, uptight jet-setters and haute-coute-people... after an hour I couldn't remember why I ever agreed to come. And you kniow what? After it was over, that ass dumped me!"

"No!"

"He didn't!"

"Really?!"

Slowly Methos strolled over to the group.

"Hi, Sybil," he greeted, "you were at Lefebres, too?"

The girl turned around to him and smiled.

"Oh, yes, Andrew took me. You were there, too? I didn't saw you there, but I saw MacLeod." 

Methos nodded.

"Yes, I was there with him." 

Knowing smiles lit up the faces of the young people around him. Professor Adam Piersons affair with MacLeod was well known in his classes; after all, the Highlander had waited up on him a few times after classes just to take him home.

Sybil nodded. 

"Yes, saw him there, late in the night, but I couldn't find you."

Methos shrugged. He wasn't keen to be reminded of their stupid fight, that seemed childish and completely pointless, now. Noncommittally he said only: "I left early."

Sibyl grinned. 

"You're lucky! It got even more boring later in the evening. The only interesting thing worth mentioning was that 'Mystery Man' showed up again. But he left early, too," she added with a grin to her comrades.

"Ooohhh, the eye-candy? The one you told us about?" another girl teased.

Sybil nodded.

"The same one. Only I'm afraid you wouldn't have great chances with him. Wrong body, you know – quite to different body parts at the important places."

Her hand hinted at her breast, and the other girl snorted.

"I say! I swear all the interesting men are gay. Leave only the crappy ones for us!" The male students of the group protested loudly, while the girl gave a meaningful and teasing look at Methos. He refused to raise to the bait.

Instead he raised his eyebrows.

"Mystery Man?"

Sybil shrugged.

"Oh, that's just our nickname. You know, that good-looking, blonde guy who leaned there at the wall like a part of the furniture? White shirt, white trousers, and looking like he just wanted to make a form of art out of it.."

Now Methos interest was definitely peaked. "You know him?"

Sybil laughed.

"No! Unfortunately. I saw him a few times in some of the bars and was about to make a pass at him, but he's one for the boys."

"It's quite a joke, you know," one of the other student's eagerly gossiped, "Sybil here sees this man one night at one of the dance-clubs and fell for him. She could talk of nothing else for weeks, and visited all the clubs, but she did not find him. Then she finally meets him again another night and he prowls off right across her nose with a boyfriend..."

Sybil gave her girlfriend a very dirty look.

"Yeah, quite funny!" she spat, "Thank you very much, Angela!"

Methos grinned.

"So why do you call him 'Mystery Man'?" he asked.

Sybil snorted.

"I never got his name! Or his address. Whoever I asked about him did not seem to know anything about him, not even his name! Then I meet him again at another dance-club by pure chance, and he takes off with a boy! I got really, really smashed that night!"

"And that was the night when you met Andrew," the girl called Angela said.

Sybil made a face.

"Don't remind me! He's an idiot," she sulked.

"So," Methos asked, "do you know his name, now?"

Sybil shook her head.

Oh, no, I don't! I never got to talk to him; Andrew was so jealous whenever I tried to make some small-talk of my own. Anyway, I was surprised to see him there, last night."

Angela furrowed her brows.

"Didn't you say it was invitation only? How did he get there then, if nobody knows him? Ho took him?"

Sybil shrugged again.

"Easy. Rene Klein. He was who took off with him that night at the club. It must have been his invitation he used."

Surprised "ahhs" and "ohhs" went through the group.

"Klein?" one of the boys of the group asked interested, "the architect? He was there last night?"

Sybil shook her head. "No, he wasn't. I heard he's out of town."

"He left last week for some event in the states, I heard," one of the other students said. "Some architecture exhibition. He's quite famous!"

"Oh, great!" the third of the male students drawled, "so 'Mystery Man' is free again. Maybe I should take up Sybils abandoned task..."

The mentioned female student gave a slow grin.

"Oh, but, Michel, see, Adam here seems quite interested in him, too. You've got a concurrent already!"

Michels eyes grew large.

"Really?" he asked in mock-interest. "Does that mean **MacLeod** is free again?"

He gave a meaningful mock-leer. "Maybe there is more to gain then, than I thought..."

Methos gave him a dirty look.

"You wish!" he growled good-naturedly. He knew quite well that Michel was engaged in a happy and stable relationship with his long-time boyfriend, Robert, so there was no real danger.

Michel shrugged.

"Can't blame a boy for trying," he said, and Methos grinned at him.

Then somebody asked if they had heard about the unsolved beheadings at the university district last night, and the whole group started chattering about it. Methos took part in the conversation with a few thrown-in comments, then he excused himself and took off. Before he left, however, he took Sybil aside and asked her if she could give him the names of the night clubs where he had met her 'Mystery Man'.

She gave him an odd look, smiled, and gave him the names and adresses. Then she shrugged and added: "He might frequent a few other clubs, too. Perhaps the ones in the gay department. The one I saw him first was on the other side of the town, actually."

Methos nodded. 

"I see. Thank you for the tip," he answered, rolled his eyes at her knowing smile, then he smiled at her and took off.

When he went to his car, he smiled to himself.

Rene Klein, eh? And the name of the dance club.   
Looked like they had a point to start to find their vampire guy, at least.

TBC

_________________________________ o_____________________

****

Authors note:

Sorry again this took me so long. Real Life just keeps interfering. Beside, this story seems to refuse just to go the way I intended it to.... 

A note to the beginning of this chapter: I changed the part about the disposal of Methos compromising clothes, again. I first planned to have Duncan burn them, what would have been more secure, but it would not be possible to get rid of the smell until the police showed up. Oh, and of course, you have to assume that the conversations with LeBrun and the students at the Sorbonne in this chapter where held in French. I do not speak or understand French well enough to even attempt to write it, so I ask you simply to assume that is the language they were using.

The party location at Lefebres is chosen at random; I have no idea if there is a building that could fit the description at this place. Same is true for quite a few other locations mentioned in this fic, safe for those you can find at the Paris city guide (like Shakespeare and Company, the Arenes de Lutece, the Sorbonne, the Canal d'Ourq in Orly, and others). It has been twelve years since I visited Paris, and I'm afraid I do not remember all the places that well. Please also forgive me the wrong writing of the Parisian names, but I do not know how to do accents in HTML correctly, and I rather not have them turn to gibberish.

Next chapter will be a shorter one. 

Aislynn


	8. Chapter 7 Following Clues

Stalking the Darkness  
by Aislynn

_****_

Disclaimer and warnings:

_**See Part one (Prologue) for disclaimers and warnings!  
Additional warning: **SLASH (D / M), don't read it if you don't like it. So, if you don't like that or are under age to read this, **turn back** **now!**_

And now, on with the story.

Chapter 7: Following Clues

Duncan nipped of his coffee again and pored over the morning paper. The strange beheadings at the university district, of course, still were in the headlines.

"The University Murders" the paper called them, and titled: "Police still without a clue!"

Another, smaller headline continued: "Ritual murder or strange dueling cult?"

Scanning the article, Duncan learned that the public knew thee had been two swords found with the victims. Speculation was that one of the victims had killed the other, but, so the author argued, obviously there had to be a third party involved, since the other victim could hardly have beheaded himself. And apparently the police had found traces of a third blood group on one of the swords. Maybe, the paper speculated, this had been some kind of duel of a secret students corporation, that had gone awry?

On the second side the article continued with a list of all the unsolved beheadings Paris had seen in the last few years starting with the unsolved Kuyler case, 1993.

It was quite a list. A long list, in spite of the fact that it already lacked the ones he and the Watchers had managed to keep off the radar of the police. Duncan closed his eyes at the mentioning of old friends among them, starting with Darius, 1993, killed in his church, and Fitzcairn, just two years later. And nearer to the end of the list there he was – Richard Redstone, known to his friends as Richie Ryan, 1997, found beheaded at a racetrack.

Duncan pushed the paper away.

That one hurt the hardest.

It still hurt like a bleeding wound, even after all that time and all the hard work he had spent trying to come to terms with it.

Duncan lowered his head for a moment, fighting back the pain, then he looked in the paper for news of other murders. There were none.

The killed clochard had not even been worth a footnote.

He looked up again when Methos came out of the bathroom, wearing only a morning coat, and settled himself on the couch, grabbing a croissant and at the same time reaching for the phone. Duncan watched bewildered while he dialed and then started to chat away with some female desk officer like he was getting paid for it. Duncan listened to his lovers call with growing puzzlement.

"Yes, you see, I have to finish this thesis about modern architecture, and it specializes in Rene Klein, and I just heard that Monsieur Klein was here in town, and thought it would help sooo much if I could ask him about his great ideas himself – oh, I see, Madam, thank you! But this would take too long, you see, the paper is due really shortly – _oh,_ _please?_ can't you make an exception? Just this once? It would help me sooo much... Oh, yes thank you, Madam, you are most gracious, you really saved me here, thank you very much... yes maybe some time this week? Yes, thank you very much! Good bye!"

He rang off and put down the phone with a triumphant expression. Duncan stared at him quizzically, grateful for the diversion.

"What was this all about?" He asked. Methos smiled at him, devilishly.

"Rene Klein has no permanent Parisian address," he related, "and he directs all his correspondence over an architectural bureau, but when he stays in town, he uses to reside at the Plaza Athénée. As he did now!"

Duncan furrowed his brows. "Who is Rene Klein?" he asked irritated.

Methos smile widened to a grin. "Hybert de la Mare's lover", he said. "The one who got the invitation de la Mare used to get into Lefebres party. Really hot modern architect, one of the whiz kids. Klein's out of town, now, but his lover may still stay at his place, because Klein has not checked out of his hotel, yet. If he had, the nice lady who just gave me his address would have known about it."

Duncan shook his head. "And who was that nice lady?" he asked with an impressed smile.

Methos shrugged. "desk officer of the day at the architectural chamber here," he said. "She said that Klein was due for some architectural exhibition in the States in a few days but if I was lucky I might catch him still in town, and get an appointment for an interview for my paper."

Duncan gave him a curious look. "And just since when did you take to studying modern architecture?" he asked.

"Since I learned of Klein's interesting boyfriend from one of my students yesterday evening," Methos drawled. "Now, what do you think of a walk down the city? We could visit some famous Parisian haut-couture-residences..."

Duncan gave him a feral grin.

"Excellent idea," he agreed.

-------------------------- o ---------------------------

As they walked down the Quai du Louvre, Duncan asked: "So, what are you going to tell the Desk Officer at that Hotel? The same story?"

Methos shook his head.

"I will not talk to her," he said. "That is your job! After all you are the one no hapless woman can withstand!"

Duncan made a face. "Don't start again!" he warned. "I told you there was nothing with that Lefebre girl."

He had thought the whole thing buried and forgotten by now. Obviously not. He sighed. To diverge the conversation to more safer topics, he asked:

"Besides, how do you know that it will be a woman at the desk? What if it is a man?"

Methos grinned impishly.

"Then I will have a chance to employ my charm," he teased. "I'll take the boy, You get to charm the chamber maids."

So much for safer topics.

"Adam!" Duncan growled, and then continued, "you didn't answer my question."

Methos shrugged.

"We use the same story you told Lefebre: Klein owns a rare piece of art, and you want to buy it from him. You wish to talk to him personally, since you think that way there is a bigger chance of him giving it up."

He raised his brows. "Nice harmless story. Besides, if LeBrun is going to inquire with Lefebre after you, it will be safer to stay with the same tale."

Duncan made a face. "And what of your little architectural study paper?" he asked.

Methos smirked.

"Elegance in anonymity, MacLeod," he said. "The Lady did not get my real name. And if questioned, I can always say I was doing you a favor."

Duncan growled. "Oh, great," he said. "So if they check at the chamber all people inquiring after Klein, they find my number, a strange male with a idiotic cover story, and shortly after that us coming to his place with another."

Methos frowned.

"Why should they check who inquired after him?" he asked.

Duncan shrugged.

"You said he had not checked out of his Hotel" he mentioned. "But he is said to have left town." He cocked his head. "Now if you ask me, this sounds a bit funny, doesn't it?"

Methos made a grimace.

"Maybe the girl at the architectural chamber was not up to the latest news," he said.

Duncan looked grim.

"Or maybe she was, and Klein has become a late night snack."

"Or he simply left his rooms for his boyfriend to stay," Methos offered. "If he wishes to return to town after his trip and pick him up again it may just the thing to do."

Duncan gave him a look.

"Boyfriend of a vampire," he said. "He must have an odd taste, that architect."

Methos gave a mock smile.

"He's of the art crowd," he allowed. "Maybe he's a Goth kid. May just be the thing to do."

He saw Duncans look and shook his head.

"I always said you are too narrow minded."

Duncan made a sour face.

"Just leave the hotel desk to me!" he finally ordered.

--------------- 0 -------------

The desk officer at the Plaza Athénée was a woman, an older member of the species, and after some reservation and wish to protect the privacy of their guests, she warmed up to MacLeods cover story. "So, you are the MacLeod of MacLeod Antiques? I've heard of your collection! Didn't you sponsor the Tessa-Noel-Collection at the Parisian modern art museum?" she asked, while she studied his card.

MacLeod closed his eyes for a moment in pain. He just nodded. The thought of Tessa still hurt, even after all the time since she died. Just as Methos still mourned Alexa.

"Yes," he finally managed to say, "she would have wished her art to be displayed there, so I gave it to them."

The desk woman hesitated. "Forgive me, I was not aware that you were personally connected to the artist," she said.

"We wanted to marry," Duncan said. "But the passed away too soon."

He sighed.

"So, about Monsieur Klein..."

The woman nodded. "Yes, he is residing with us. And you are sure that he owns the piece you are looking for?"

Duncan nodded.

"So I was told," he said.

"I would like to invite him to a meeting to discuss my offer personally. I had hoped to find him here..."

The desk woman shook her head. "I am sorry but this will have to wait a few days," she said. "You see, Monsieur Klein is out of town at the moment."

MacLeod frowned.

"Out of town?" he asked. "But he is still lodged here? Isn't that unusual?"

He made a face.

"I wasn't informed that he checked out already!"

The woman shook her head. "No, he didn't check out. Monsieur Klein has booked a long-term-stay, a few month actually. He's expected back the week after the next. He would not want to change rooms, or his intérieur in the meantime, just for a few out-of-town-arrangements."

She shrugged.

"We have a lot of arrangements like this," she related. "Movie stars, musicians, the art crowd... even honey-mooners. They lodge here as much for the renommée of the address as for the service of our place. They stay with us to be **_seen_. **If Monsieur Klein was to check out just for a few days for every out-of-town meeting, we would have problems to give him the same suite afterwards, all the time, and to find guests for his rooms in-between all the time. So, he chooses this arrangement."

She smiled proudly.

"After all, he is a long-term-customer, and stays with us every other summer."

MacLeod nodded.

"Thank you, Madam, you have been very helpful," he said. "So, I just will have to wait. Could you, by any chance, tell me, when to expect him back?"

She frowned.

"The week after next week, he will be back again, I think," she said. "There is a meeting on modern architecture scheduled at this very hotel. I think he is due as one of the referents. You can be sure to meet him then."

MacLeod gave her a smile.

"Thank you very much, Madam, I am very grateful! I will do so!"

"Please give Monsieur Klein my best wishes when he returns!"

He gave her a courteous bow and a kiss to her hand.

"Good bye!"

And with that he left the bemused woman and went to find Methos.

He found the other Immortal waiting for him just around the corner of the Hotel, and looking on his watch. "Hi!" he said, by way of greeting, "did you find anything?"

Methos nodded.

"Are you up to an early lunch?" he asked. "Because we have an appointment."

And he took off to a nearby Café.

Duncan followed him with an inquiring look.

"A lunch appointmet? With whom?" he asked.

"Carol. One of the chamber maids," the older immortal explained. "She is a short-term-employee and don't feels against bettering up her income by relating a few information too us about hotel guests; after all I told her it was just so we would know more about Klein and could judge how to approach him best to talk him into parting with that piece of art for your collection."

Duncan frowned. This was all going a bit far. After all, he did not really know if Klein really owned the piece of art in question or had even ever heard of it. Anyway, it was too late to back out now, anyway.

"And you are sure she will come?" he asked as he followed hi lover to a booth that was outside the direct line of sight of the Hotel. Methos grinned.

"Of course she will!" he said. "After all, there's free dinner and another forty for her stay in Paris!"

Duncan frowned.

"Forty Euros?" he inquired, outraged.

"Fifty, actually," Methos said. "The first ten I gave her up front." He shrugged. "Don't make a face, MacLeod! Do you want that information or not? And for her, it is a lot of money!"

Duncan growled.

"And for me it isn't?" he inquired. But he gave up his grumbling when he saw the girl approach and – after a short, hesitant look around the Café – heading straight to their booth.

He stood up, and greeted her with all his charm.

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle. Duncan MacLeod, at your service!" he introduced himself."And I believe you have already met Adam Pierson?"

She smiled at him, and Methos, then sat down.

Carol turned out to be a nice girl, and, after she lost her first reservations, very talkative. She was an English student taking a semester in Paris and worked at the Hotel and other places like that in her free time to finance her stay. The offered fifty Euros were a welcome betterment of her income.

"Of course I have met Mr. Klein," he said. "He is a nice guy, and very generous. It is just... he's weird."

"How do you mean, weird?" MacLeod asked.

"Well..." she said, taking a sip of her coffee, "He's never there by day, you know. He just turns up at night. But he does not seem to sleep here by day, either."

She shrugged and took a byte of her Sandwich.

"We cleanse his rooms at the usual hors, in the late morning, when most of the guests are out in town. Only I have never seen him leaving. He must use the underground garage, or something. And he never comes down to eat in the restaurant, either. He always orders room service. But only at nights. Other guests use to sleep then, but he has visitors and sometimes whole parties. And most of his visitors are men."

She took another byte of her Sandwich. Methos cocked his head. MacLeod gave her an inquiring look. She bushed.

"You mean, he's gay?" Methos asked.

Her blush deepened.

"You didn't know? He's one for the boys, definitely. But the guys he's taking... much older, the lot of tem. And some are outright scary!"

Methos frowned.

"Scary? How?" he asked.

She looked a bit uncomfortable.

"Well, especially one of them," she said. "A blonde guy. Tall, and reserved, and he has all this graceful movements, like a predator. Cultivated voice. But he has this forbidding aura, as if , if you get to close, he'll rip your throat out! And he has this weird eyes – piercing and alight, and they seem to follow you around. He sees everything! It is as if he could stare right into your head." She shuddered. "And he never makes a noise. One time he came up after me and I only noticed it when I nearly bumped into him. Scary! I do not like him, really!"

She took another, determined turn at her sandwich and finished it off with a few more bytes.

MacLeod shared a look with his lover.

****

Bingo!

"Do you happen to know his name?" he asked.

Carol shook her head.

"He never told it," she said. "Maybe he gave it at the desk, but I would not bet that it is his right one."

Methos gave her a friendly frown.

"Why ever not?" he asked.

She smiled at him.

"Come on!" she said. "Gay affairs? Nightly visits with your lover? With **changing** lovers?"

Methos shrugged.

"It's a free country," he observed. "And Klein does not seem to hide his preferences."

Duncan decided to get the conversation back on track.

"So, have you seen him recently?" he asked. "And this mystery lover of him, is he still there?"

Carol shook her head.

"No, he does not stay here. And Klein... well, I haven't seen him for a few days, actually." She frowned.

"That's the odd thing. Two weeks ago, that guy visited regularly. And Mr. Klein, he really seemed to bloom in that guys presence, as if he met the love of his life, or something. Then, a few days ago, he didn't turn up anymore. And I haven't seen Mr. Klein since, either."

She paled a bit.

"You do not think that something happened to him, do you?"

Duncans face was grim. Methos intervened quickly and chimed in, smiling:

"Happened? Oh, no! He's just gone to attend a presentation in the States. That's what your desk officer told us. Didn't you knew that?"

The chamber maid flushed.

"No. I didn't... I wasn't aware... Of course! He talked about his presentation in Chicago." She shrugged. "I just thought... it was supposed to take place next week."

"Perhaps he had some other appointments before that," Methos soothed. "I would not worry too much! After all, he didn't check out!"

Then he smiled again.

"Very well, Carol! You have been very helpful! Hank you! Here's your money!"

He handed her the note, and she let it vanish into her purse.

"Thank you," she replied. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, my lunch break is over, and I'll have to return..."

"Of course," MacLeod said, and rose. "Thank you very much, Carol, you have been very helpful indeed!"

He smiled at her and helped her into her jacket, then complimented her out. Then, he went back to the table and asked for the check.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

"I am not sure," Methos said. "Maybe your theory of the late night snack has some foundation."

MacLeod nodded.

"Maybe we should check if Rene Klein ever arrived at his destination," he said.

He took out his cell phone. Methos raised his brows.

"You are going to call Joe about this?"

Duncan nodded.

Methos shook his head.

"MacLeod, wait! Ever heard of time difference? It's 3 a.m. over there! Just send him an Email, or an Email and an SMS to hint to the urgency of it! That way he gets it as soon as he checks his cell phone in the morning!"

MacLeod growled.

"This is urgent!" he said.

Methos nodded.

"But he will have to ask his fellow Watchers in Chicago, anyway, and he won't reach them in the middle of the night," he said. "Send him an Email! He may get back at you this very evening, and if you ask me, that is soon enough."

MacLeod sighed and obeyed.

------------------------- o ------------------------

It was nearly dark when the phone rang and shook Duncan out of his readings. He strolled over to the station, took it up and acknowledged the call. The gruff voice at the other end was very welcome.

"Joe? How it is going?"

The voice of the old Watcher sounded amused.

"Better, Mac. I'm wrapping up, here. In a few days, I'm back in town and leaving the Ice Age behind me."

Duncan winced in sympathy. "That bad?" he asked. He could hear the smile in Joe's answering voice. "Worse. You'd think she'd mellowed somewhat in all the time since her Husband died, but no such luck. Anyway, it's just a few days more to endure."

Duncan sighed.

"I'm looking forward to have you here again," he admitted. Then he swallowed dryly and asked:

"Joe, about that fellow I asked you to research, Rene Klein... did you come up with something?"

"The architect," Joe drawled. "Your guys boyfriend. Yes. But it was a blank. Rene Klein attended a money rising party here yesterday night. He really was there."

Duncan drew his brows together.

"So he's not dead, then," he concluded.

Joe chuckled.

"Definitely not. Your guy seems to be less of a murdering maniac than we thought."

"He killed someone, Joe," Duncan said sharply. "Right at my doorstep. You yourself said so."

He could hear Joe's shrugging in his voice.

"I know I did. I did not say he wasn't dangerous."

Duncan nodded. "So. Anything else?"

There was a pause. He could feel Joe hesitating.

"Weeeell," Joe finally drawled. "Are you sure that guy of yours isn't immortal?"

Duncan drew his brows together.

"Quite sure. He's not one of us. I would have felt it, and so would Adam. Why?"

There was that hesitation again. Then finally Joe answered:

"It is Klein. My people had him under observation a few times. He's suspected of being an immortal."

Duncan stared at the phone.

"What? Why?!"

"Well," Joe answered, "he's got the typical background, you know? Parents died early in an accident, no medical records, early youth records went up in flames in an unfortunate office burning. And he looks too young for his age, too. He's supposed to be in his thirties, and you could take him for seventeen. Plus there have been some suspicions that he might be identical with a few people we had sightings of in the twenties and fifties, as well as one record that was written in the last century."

Duncan nodded slowly.

"So, you have a Watcher on him?"

"That's the odd thing," Joe said. "No, we haven't. There have been a few probes into the case before, but he newer took up a fight with a known immortal, even if he was staying in the same town. There never was a fight. Never any reported Quickenings. And Klein – he's quite eccentric. Going out only at nights, never being seen before dark. Even his presentations are all set after sundown. No immortal would live like that. It draws too much attention."

Duncan stared. He did not like the picture that was forming here in the least, although he admitted to himself that he should have expected that much. But... another one? On the other hand, now, that he thought about it, why should de la Mare be the only creature of his kind hanging around in Paris? It made sense, after all.

He almost missed Joe's next sentence.

"Also he was seen visiting a concert of Claudia Jardine recently, and neither she nor Walther showed any reaction. Apparently, they simply did not feel him and did not recognize him as one of their kind."

Duncans mind reeled.

"Walther?" he said incredulously, hiding his alarm, "He's still with Claudia?"

Joe sounded amused.

"Not **with** her, Mac. **Around.** Claudia still will not allow him to protect her, and still refuses to learn how to protect herself, and he still refuses to let her go unprotected. So he protects her from afar. Every now and then, he takes out one of the immortals going after her, she confronts him about it, he promises to leave her alone and gives her a wide berth for a while... then the next headhunter comes to town and the game begins anew. It's quite a dance. So far, it worked out well for both of them, anyway."

Duncan sighed and swore quietly.

"Bastard! He swore to me to leave her alone!"

Joe suddenly sounded more earnest.

"Still, she should be grateful for her shadow. He took the heads of four would-be-challengers of her, already. And one of those almost had her, and scared her half to death, too, when he showed up. She escaped only because her challenger got distracted by Walthers presence and she ran."

Duncan sighed. "I bet she gave him hell for it, too, afterwards. Still, I can not say that I'm not grateful. I much prefer not hearing of her death."

He changed the topic.

"Thank you, Joe. You helped me a lot. When will you be back?"

"If all goes as planned, I think I'll be in Paris next week on Monday," the old watcher answered.

"Duncan nodded. "Be sure to call us and tell us the flight, so we can take you from the airport," he offered.

Joe snorted.

"So much for not pissing off Watcher Headquarters anymore," he said. "Will do! How's the old man?"

Duncan smiled.

"He's at a faculty meeting right now, and he totally hates it!" he related. "I suffered his grumbling about if for a whole week now."

Joe snorted again.

"That's Adam for you. Don't let him rant your ears off!" he advised.

Duncan laughed.

"See you, Joe. I'm glad to catch you Monday!"

Then he rang off.

He stared at the phone a few moments, fighting down his rising panic.

So, that Rene Klein was a Vampire, too. And he had visited one of Claudia concerts! When? Recently? He had forgotten to ask.

Was this a plot of de la Mare and his apparent lover to go after immortals? Did they have planned this long-handed? Did he and Klein stalk Claudia to get to him? To Methos? Was that the real reason de la Mare had been at that party and had then followed Methos through the town half the night? This could not be a mere coincidence, couldn't it?

Duncan shook his head. He definitely had been around Methos for too long. The habitual paranoia of the Old Man started to rub off on him!

After all, Claudia Jardine was famous and brilliant, and she gave a lot of concerts. And they were considered first class cultural events, too, visited by a lot of people, especially those who counted themselves to the art society. So, they might be visited by some Vampires, too, especially if said Vampires concealed themselves as artists or as architects. As this Klein guy obviously did. The whole thing might mean nothing.

But Duncan could not shake a cold feeling of dread at the thought that his friends – like Claudia, and Walther – might have gotten caught already in a larger scheme, one he himself just discovered, and might find themselves targets just because they were associated to him. And this feeling of helpless dread and suspicion was rapidly turning to anger.

He shook himself out of his brooding mood and reached for his Jacket. The Katana was tucked safely inside. In the inside pocket, he knew the list of addresses of the night bars and clubs Methos got of his student.

It was time to go hunting.

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Authors note:

So much for a shorter chapter. I think this is the longest I have written, yet. And it took me long enough. As for the places, the Plaza Athénée is a real Hotel in Paris, famous for the prominent art crowd and honey-mooners residing there. I don't know if they have the described long-stay-policy or even an underground garage, though.

A big Thank You to everyone who reviewed this. Your comments were a real drive to get over that writers block and continue writing. And as you can see... it's alive! Although a bit slow in coming (cough!).

Aislynn


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